


Independently Needy

by plasticpumpkins



Category: Deadpool (2016), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Blowjobs, Delusions, Denial, Depression, Flashbacks, Flirty!Wade, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Lonely!Peter, M/M, Mercenary Work, Partial Nudity, Personal Erasure of mental illness, Pre-Weapon X Wade, Sickness, Social Anxiety, Swearing, Untreated Mental Illness, future explicit sexual content, murder mention, shameless flirting, sick!Peter, stalking mention, undiagnosed mental illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7941628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasticpumpkins/pseuds/plasticpumpkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker was an independent adult, but that doesn't mean he wasn't loathsome, endlessly sick, and tired of being alone. Those feelings don't last long when he's introduced to a certain mercenary under rather embarrassing circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coconut Shampoo and Mercenaries

**Author's Note:**

> This story was revised and edited with the help of [Lavamamma](https://lavamamma.tumblr.com/) who has done wonders to help me out! 
> 
>  
> 
> You can reach me to discuss this story at [this](https://bottompotter.tumblr.com/) link to my blog!
> 
> All portrayals of mental illness are from personal and extended research. This story is not meant to romanticize, glorify or extrapolate the hardships of mental illness or emotional well-being. I, both as a writer and a mentally ill person myself, strive to write as realistically and carefully as possible when handling these subjects. Thank you.

Peter Parker could call himself independent. He lived alone in a shifty part of the city where people traded cigarettes for sexual favors and gateway drugs were more like freeway drugs.

He had a pocket full of one dollar bills and gum wrappers, but he was definitely independent.

Although, being independent had its qualms… like waking up at 6:30 in the morning with slobber on his face and his nose running. He lazily rose his head from the wet pillow below him, squinting through the sunlight streaming in him from an...open window? That explained the queasy feeling in his stomach, the runny nose and the disgusting prickly feeling that seemed to coat the expanse of his skin. A growing sense of ache began to build in his lower back, slowly writhing up his exposed spine until it met his clammy shoulders.

Being independent meant working for his money, buying things on his own, and taking care of himself. But on this morning, he wished for nothing more than another person to help him out of his sticky sheets. The prospect of having to move from this spot and take a shower practically caused bile to rise up in his throat, though he knew that caring for himself wasn’t exactly optional. The idea of staying in bed was even worse, so he hauled himself up into a sitting position and sighed heavily as his feet hit the floor.

Peter resisted the urge to groan out in pure agony as the beginning of a headache bloomed in the back of his head. The glaring sunlight that lit up his room was to his back now, but it was still immensely pervasive as it hit every reflective surface in an attempt to blind him permanently. He longed for the nights where darkness was welcoming and artificial lighting gave him a choice. But it was early morning now, bright and forceful as the clock on his nightstand ticked with every passing second.

The bedroom in which he sat was barely large enough to be called a bedroom, it looked more like a walk in closet with clothes littered across the wooden floor and dust covering every clear space in the room. He heaved himself up from his unmade bed, taking wobbly steps around the frame to meet the open window that welcomed gusts of chilly wind to whirl past him and send revolting shivers down his spine. At his feet, he found clumps of melted snow and his discarded Spider-suit.

He put one unsteady hand on the window and slammed it shut, impatient and pained. The sound of impact was violent enough for him to fear the state of the dirty glass, and his stomach clenched at the thought of having to clean up broken shards.

Fortunately, the glass merely clacked in its wooden confines, remaining intact and falling silent. Peter sighed once more, turning away from the window to trudge out of his bedroom and into the cluttered living room.

He grimaced at the sight of half empty water bottles on his scratched up coffee table and realized that he had more work to do than he had energy. It was moments like these that he wished that he had been  granted with better powers, like the ability to remember to close his windows.

He glanced over to his small kitchen, which had splattered pizza sauce on the white counter and an open bag of mozzarella cheese spilled over: a messy reminder of the pizza he had failed to make.

Peter wondered if he had the ability to do anything without creating disorder. The entirety of his apartment was in shambles, but he tried to tell himself that it had more to do with a lack of time than his absolute hatred of putting on rubber gloves and smelling the headache-inducing chemicals of cleaning products.

He sighed for the third time that morning and turned back towards the hallway, padding with heavy steps towards the bathroom.

After flipping on the light switch, he tried his hardest not to lose his already wavering sense of calm at the sight of damp towels on the floor. Fuck, his past self was a dick. Independent was starting to look more like lonely and helpless than free willed. He searched under the sink for clean towels and found nothing but a dishrag and more dust. Why was there a dish rag under his bathroom sink? These laundry mishaps were seriously ruining his adult credibility; he was 24 and still failing to separate dishrags from washrags. Christ.

He was too exhausted to go through the process of washing the towels, so instead, he kicked them out into the narrow hallway and slammed the door. Being pointlessly angry at used towels was probably not the best sign, but he didn’t currently have the capacity to care about his deteriorating mental health or the fact that there weren’t any clean towels. He turned the shower on anyways, pushing the thoughts from his head.

When the water went from freezing cold to scalding hot, Peter remembered that there was nothing in-between. He pushed his underwear down past his thighs until they hit the stone flooring of the bathroom and climbed into the stall, hissing quietly when the water bit into his sensitive skin. Pain greeted him like an old friend, reminding him that you can’t forget headaches or runny noses or blistering water.

Peter wanted to cower away from the feeling; it was something he’d never get used to. The vicious water swaddled him in an unforgiving heat and wouldn’t let him move. He stood under the continuous spray and forced himself to stand still, even when the temperature rose for seemingly no reason. Maybe someone in another apartment turned on their kitchen sink? The thought caused him to laugh mirthlessly, brain caught in an endless loop of agony and self-loathing.

He reached for his shampoo, which smelled of coconut and just so happened to be close to empty. Peter whined like a child, his shoulders slumping pathetically. He attempted to pour the substance into his hand, but ended up shaking the bottle until it spilled out all at once and landed in a generous lump at his feet. A frustrated noise left his mouth, whimpering and high pitched above the sound of water streaming.

He scrambled to wipe it up, no matter how unsavory it was, and when half of what fell was in his hand, he ran it through his hair. With both hands, he massaged it through with a vengeance.

In the midst of ignoring his throbbing headache, the startling hot water, and his general lack of shampoo, there was a noise. It was loud, echoing through his tiny apartment. It clicked then in Peter’s mind that it was a knock on the door. He knew it was way past seven now, but even that was early for visitors. He had no friends. He had nothing. A knock on the door was as foreign as clean towels at this point, but Peter, with his hair soapy, climbed out of the shower anyways. He turned back briefly to turn the water off, knowing damn-well that he didn’t have enough money to leave it running. He wasn’t Donald Trump. On a second thought, he realized he’d rather be poor than be Trump.

The water wasted no time draining off of Peter’s form, pooling on the ground around his feet. He scanned the room for a towel, and then, to his dismay, he realized that all he had was the dish rag. The knocking never ceased, it didn’t even bother to pause, it was constant. Peter wondered who it was. The cops? Had they found him out? Intrusive thoughts were really the best part of his day. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

‘’I’m coming! Geez,’’ he yelled, his voice was scratchy from disuse and he wanted to cringe at the sound of it bouncing off the walls. The knocking continued. Peter sighed in distress, yanking the rag from the sink top to wrap it strangely around his bits. He glanced to the mirror; he was red in the face and drenched with water. It would have to do, he supposed, turning to slip (almost literally) out of the bathroom to the door at the end of the hallway wherein his unwashed towels lie unaccessible.

He didn’t bother to ask whom it was, he merely yanked open the door and waited for the inevitable, which was a stranger seeing him hold a cloth over his penis in broad daylight.

The persistent-knocker went through various facial expressions in the expanse of three seconds total. Peter identified the first as shock, the second as confusion, then the third as amusement. He was expecting horrified screaming or a punch to the face. The person, a man in his late twenties, quirked an eyebrow up at him. Peter’s stomach seemed to drop to the floor at the sight. He took a deep breath.

‘’Can I help you?’’ Peter asked. It was a normal question for a normal situation.

‘’Well, baby boy, now that I’m thinking about it…’’ the man started, but trailed off, as do his eyes. They’re a startling blue, prevalent against the backdrop of his scruff and dark outfit, and they run up and down his dripping body. Peter’s face heated up without his permission.

‘’I meant, uh, why are you here?’’ Peter corrected, shuffling to hide his lower half behind the open door.

He noticed a fresh cut going across the man’s right eyebrow, separating the blonde hairs in a wound that couldn’t be called accidental. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and long legs and he looked like he could crush Peter if he got his hands around him, and fuck, Peter was the one with powers.

The man seemed to be busy staring at Peter’s lower abdomen, and there was nothing he could do but cough slightly to bring his attention back up to his face. A strangled moment passed, leaving them in suffocating silence. Peter had to suppress the urge to slam the door in the stranger’s face due to sheer embarrassment.

‘’Oh, fuck, right,” the man said, interrupting Peter’s short-term escape plan. “I’m here for payment? You know, I threaten the baddies, you give me money.’’

Peter squinted, ‘’You…I’m sorry, what?’’

‘’Don’t go playin’ dumb on me, baby boy.  We both know everything costs these days, and daddy needs his dough, his cash, his baboom,’’ the man said in a low voice which was deceptively passive as it met Peter’s ears.

Then, all at once, reality dawned on him. The circumstances began to make sense. He finally understood why this man was standing in front of him, pestering him at far too early of an hour. Money…he wanted money...money that Peter did not have.  

‘’Listen, I-I know that times are tough and all, but I seriously have no idea who you are or what job you did or what money I owe you.’’

Peter tried to pretend that his voice doesn’t quiver. He was a fucking superhero for Christ’s sake. He could handle some dude in doc martins. He suddenly missed the man’s witty attitude in this moment. Anything to dismantle the tension. The man tilted his head, his face adopting an almost soft expression. It wasn’t exactly pity. It was more like patience. A newly developed sense of compassion.

It was baffling. Peter then realized how complex people could be. He recalled Aunt May insisting that books, or rather people, couldn’t be judged by their covers. She had been consistently right about these things throughout his life, but looking at this overbearing man, he found that he wished she was wrong. He wanted someone black and white. He did not want complexity or confusion in his life.

He had had enough of it to last the rest of his life. Unfortunately, the universe did not care about or respect this. The stranger had already begun to open his mouth again. Peter, in a frustrated but forcefully calm state, shifted from one foot to another. He tried to apply his best poker face. He found that he wasn’t very good at poker, whether it be the expression or the game itself. He wasn’t much of a liar.

‘’Well,  one, my name is Wade Wilson,” the look on his face said he was tolerant, while his voice insisted he was impatient. “Two, I’m a mercenary, don’t tell the cops about that one, and three, I specifically remember getting a certain phone call from this exact address to take out two men under the names Jordan Suxic and Michael Letter. Now, kid, one of us is wrong. Which is it?’’

The blatant confession of being a mercenary left Peter’s ears ringing. He tried not to feel repulsed and ultimately failed. This wasn’t his first encounter with a professional killer, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. It left him anxious to slam the door in the man’s face and ultimately remove himself from the vulnerable situation. He was shocked, wide eyed and drenched in cold sweat and water.

Nothing made sense. So, of course, Peter had to look seriously at Wade and convince him that he wasn’t the right person and this wasn’t the right place, but before he could speak, he began sneezing. He sneezed four times in a row, before putting the hand not covering his junk with a dishrag up to inform Wade that he needed a second, but then he was sneezing another six times and he felt that explaining could be problematic with the need to sneeze every five seconds. Wade said nothing, and Peter dreaded looking up at him with his no doubt bloodshot eyes and runny nose.

He stared at the wooden floors, noting where it stopped and broke off into grimy cement. A Linoleum strap lie between the two, separating his apartment from the hallway. Then there were Wade’s shoes, black and tarnished. He followed them up, eyeing questionable jeans and the beginnings of a gray T-shirt, covered by a jacket that looked older than both of them put together. He sighed again. Despite the man’s invasive presence in the doorway of his home, he was still surprised to find him there. He swallowed around the dryness of his throat, sniffling hard.

‘’You are,’’ he told the man, despite Wade’s imposing height and heavy boots.

When he met his eyes again, he could tell that the man was becoming impatient. But so was Peter, he had soap drying into his hair and a hand over his crotch. It was humiliating, to say the least. He felt queasy and uncoordinated, squinting at Wade through the thickness of his sticky eyelashes. Frustration bloomed in his chest, along with a rather violent urge to cough. He cleared his throat instead, shoving it all down to save himself the embarrassment. Peter ignored the way his eyes watered and itched in order to remain calm.

‘’Listen -’’ Wade began, but Peter stopped him.

‘’I didn’t hire you because I don’t need anyone to take care of things for me. So you’re wrong, no matter what, you’re wrong.’’

Wade made a funny face, like he was caught between hilarity and disbelief. It seemed to be a sobering expression. Not for Wade, but for Peter himself. The sudden disconnection of Wade and the upper hand had given the smaller of the two a step up.  

‘’If it wasn’t you, then who called?’’

Peter took a deep breath and moved from behind the door, shuffling cautiously towards Wade with his rag firmly in place. The other man was visibly startled, and even made a move to open his mouth, probably to ask what the hell Peter was doing, but before he could, Peter lifted his left hand and pointed next door. It made sense suddenly. Wade had the wrong apartment. It was so simple and obvious that it was almost embarrassing to say that their conversation, or dispute rather, had lasted so long. It wasn’t a big deal, but something nasty and discomforting twisted in Peter’s stomach.

‘’The woman who lives there is a sex worker. She would probably need protection from the men who follow her home,’’ he said, but the words felt plain and boring in his mouth. The mystery was solved. The situation held no merit or significance to him.

The other man swallowed. He looked embarrassed almost, and Peter watched his adam’s apple bob in his throat. ‘’Hm, I guess it makes sense.’’

‘’I’m sure she has everything you need, the money, an explanation…’’ Peter didn’t know anything about this man other than his first and last name, along with his occupation, but the thought of him leaving left Peter’s chest constricting. He had been alone for months, only ever passing people on his way in and out of the office. But even then, he couldn’t catch their eyes. It was like he was invisible, caught in a state of fictionality and hallucinatory visions. But there was someone in front of him now, looking at him, not through or past him.

The man sighed, and Peter felt the familiar urge to copy him.

‘’I’m sorry, kid. I shouldn’t have been so assumptious, but this job is tough and usually people are trying to get out of paying me for doing their dirty work,’’ Wade said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He made no comment about how close Peter was now or the loose droplets of water dripping down his shoulders, he only looked down at the ground. Peter assumed that even mercenaries felt awkward sometimes.

‘’It’s alright, I wasn’t doing anything important,’’ Peter replied automatically, waving his hand dismissively. Wade gave him a questioning look, a slight smirk quirking up at the corner of his mouth.

‘’So, the soap in your hair is intentional?’’ Wade asked, and Peter looked for something witty to say in response, though he found nothing but a static-like silence in his head. In place of his words, he nodded. He held his breath in anxious anticipation when Wade’s focus flickered from Peter to the narrow hallway of his apartment behind him. He tried to mentally will away the trash he knew was littered randomly across his apartment. This man was going to think he was a trash lord. And he wouldn’t technically be wrong.

Peter felt small then, the door frame was far above his head and so was Wade, which gave the man the perfect angle to see directly into his shitty apartment. Garbage and all.  

‘’Is that all?’’ Peter asked, even when he dreaded being alone, even when the anxiety of isolation rose high in his throat.

He watched Wade, in his rugged glory, glance over to his neighbor’s door. Peter recalled the woman’s short hair and the scent of vanilla perfume, and he knew that Wade would find what he needed next door. However, in the pit of his empty stomach, the loneliness churned and left him nauseous like cheap cough syrup. Bitterly, he remembered that he couldn’t even afford _that_ anymore. 

He hated himself for wanting the attention of a stranger, how had he fallen so low? He thought of Gwen and then immediately squashed the idea before it could grow. He was already sick, a self-inflicted depression was not on his ‘to do’ list today.

Wade cleared his throat, ‘’I suppose it is, baby boy.’’

Unwilling to let the conservation go, desperate and lonely, Peter questioned the man. ‘’Baby boy?’’

Wade smiled, it was toothy and wide. ‘’I called you that four times before you noticed.’’

‘’Is that something you call everyone?’’ Peter asked, suddenly very aware of the short distance between them. They could almost bump chests, just another two steps forward and he could carefully fall into the other man. Instead, he took a step backwards.

Wade slipped his large hands into the pockets of his jacket, swaying slightly forward. He reminded Peter of a child who couldn’t remain still, but then he was speaking and his voice was like gravel, low and rumbling, destroying any childlike resemblance. ‘’Only you, kid.’’

Peter’s mouth went dry, unsure of how to proceed. ‘’Should I be flattered?’’

‘’Should you?’’ Wade shot back playfully, and Peter felt like he could stumble over at any moment.

He felt off-balanced, uncomfortable and terribly desperate to have this man stay. It was a confusing kind of thing. A shaky connection that he was sure only he felt. He couldn’t hold a structured conversation, especially one that consisted of questions, but the thought of closing himself back into his vacant apartment and returning to a scorching shower made him sick to his stomach. Loneliness had taught him to settle into himself, but it never gave him the ability to be comfortable with it.

Comfort belonged to those who lived on the other side of the city. Comfort was the sound of the television on in the background of phone calls. Comfort was enough blankets to sustain warmth. Comfort was loose clothes and countryside dreams. Peter Parker did not know comfort.

He knew cheap apartments, unpaid cable bills and cold nights in a city that refused to love him back.

He looked Wade in the eyes, brown uncertainly staring into blue, and said, ‘’I should.’’

The silence that followed was short lived. Wade gave him another killer smile.

‘’You’re smart, kid.’’

The compliment was flat, but Peter accepted the taste of praise like it would cease the hunger in his chest.

‘’You never asked for my real name,’’ he pointed out, though it felt more like an afterthought. He was afraid to let this conversation end, and was even more afraid to acknowledge that he needed to speak to another human being. He had relied on himself for longer than expected, and he was anxious to escape his own hands. He never imagined he’d be alone for this long. He always thought there was more.

Wade’s head tilted to the side ever so slightly, he had a curious look in his eyes. ‘’You going to tell me?’’

Peter blushed for the second time that morning, shuffling behind his door once more. He had been alone for months, but sure, he had a good idea of the social standings of holding your own cock in public. Or at least, he thought he did.

‘’I’m Peter Parker,’’ he told the man, and then felt unreasonably awkward for how strange he probably looked. Naked, wet and painfully generic was always a struggle, but Peter tried, he really did.

‘’Well, Peter, you’ve made quite the impression,’’ Wade mused, donning an intimidating smirk to accompany the grit of his words.

Peter flushed red, ‘’I don’t usually answer the door half naked, I’m sorry.’’

‘’I don’t know if that counts as _half_  naked, baby boy,’’ Wade speculated, blue eyes scanning over the other man’s exposed skin. Peter wondered how someone could stare so blatantly, and then shut the thought down. He was the one who stopped everything to answer the door. Self-blame tasted like cherry coke and burned his throat as he swallowed it down. He accepted it gently then, letting himself believe that he deserved to be looked over like he was a thing rather than a person. He had unintentionally laid himself out this way, halfheartedly covered and ready to be consumed.

If he had stayed in the shower, he could have been dressed and back in bed already. Instead, he was displayed in front of a man that did not seem to be window-shopping. This man, though at a good distance, seemed too close. Vulnerability was both terrifying and exhilarating. It was not merely fight or flight now. It was bare or submit. He often found that his mind was not on his side, but rather on the side of whoever would apply their cold hands to his feverish skin.  He wanted relief from himself.

‘’At least I’m not fully naked,’’ Peter said defensively, but his voice came out squeaky.

He mentally scolded himself, worried he was pushing himself farther away from socialization. Did he actually want to be friends with a mercenary? They weren’t the best of people, he knew, but when you’re living off of ramen noodles and haven’t spoken to anyone in six months, it was better than nothing.

‘’Do you want to be? ‘Cause baby, I could help you out,’’ Wade cooed, leaning against the door frame. The look on his face was practically predatorial, it sent a nerve-wracking shiver down Peter’s spine. He realized, in record time, that he _liked_ to be treated this way.

He liked the attention. And he was sure that the older man had noticed. He felt out of his element then, vulnerable beneath a wolfish gaze and content with being devoured. An insecure thought in his head insisted that he was pathetic. He agreed.

Peter scoffed despite it all, “‘Do you always flirt with strangers?’’

‘’Only cute ones with doe eyes,’’ Wade responded smugly, crossing his arms.

The smaller man groaned, ‘’That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.’’

‘’Is that a challenge? I can start quoting the lyrics from Shoop.’’  It was a simple, almost humorous moment. They had found something in common. It left Peter internally jumping for joy. All he needed was a single tie. A single topic to link them together. And there it was, in the form of light flirting and 90s lyrics. He liked the way this man made him feel. He liked being on edge, waiting for another witty comment to dissect and throw back. Peter realized he missed friendship.

Peter couldn’t help but give in, smiling lazily up at Wade.  ‘’Brother wanna thank your mother for a butt like that, huh?’’

Wade grinned, ‘’You know it, kid.’’

Then, without warning, a ringtone began to blare loudly, disrupting the entire moment. He couldn’t identify the song, but Wade mouthed along to the lyrics as his hand found the source of the noise to pull it out and press it against his ear. ‘’Yellow?’’ he drawled, eyes still on Peter.

The voice on the other side of the phone was scolding but incoherent as it spoke. Wade nodded along to the words, but it didn’t look like he was listening to a single thing the person was saying. The phone call lasted a full two minutes before the man rolled his eyes and hung up abruptly. ‘’Listen, baby boy, I gotta run. But maybe I could give you my number, for realsies this time, and you could call me up?’’

Peter swallowed, ‘’Yeah. Yeah. Sure.’’

‘’It’s 212-321-5944, it’s my personal, so make sure to call me if you’re in the mood to kiss me through the phone,’’ Wade said, rattling off incessantly. He didn’t seem to be phased by his own garish implications.

Peter crinkled his nose, ‘’Okay.’’

He was desperately trying to remember the number in his head, though his face was perfectly passive. Wade waved him off, his smile toothy and wide.  

‘’See ya later, baby boy,’’ he told him. It was a promise that made Peter feel less empty. As the man walked off, Peter closed his front door and sighed. That was the longest, most fulfilling conversation he’d had in months, and fuck, he was glad he answered the door.

When Peter stepped back into his shower, he thought of Wade Wilson’s phone number and how much better life could be. It left him to fantasize about the apartments on the rich side of the city, where comfort dwelled far from him. He was still independent, poor and perpetually sick but now, if he was lucky, he’d have a friend to complain about all of those things to. It was better. A lot better.


	2. Crime and Minnesota

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wants to get drunk, Weasel's tired, Wade is too caring for his own good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I'm glad to be back with more nicely arranged garbage. I hope you enjoy!!

When nighttime came, Peter found himself perched atop a grimy building. The city had been filled with beautiful, pure snow that had quickly turned to a disgusting mush of dirt and soot. And then, it had all been rinsed away with freezing rain. It had soaked his suit and caused him to look more like a wet cat than a superhero. It was barely midnight, but he was already done with himself and the rain.

New York City was surprisingly quiet on that night. Peter had never experienced the city that way before, it had always been filled with bright lights and blaring sirens. For a place that allegedly never slept, the city looked drowsy and boring from above, where he watched the empty streets for any sign of violence or mishap; he found nothing but trash rolling wet in the wind. He sighed tiredly. 

Peter felt empty. He didn’t have much to think about, so he spent the majority of his time rolling in his own self-loathing and shoving processed cheese into his mouth. He found himself wishing for crime, it would be enough to make him forget that he was alone. He’d get acknowledged by police officers for saving the day, and maybe even make it on the news; he wouldn’t see it, but it’d remind other people that he was out there, that he held relevance in society.

Sadly, when Peter wished for crime, all criminals decided to be charitable and assumedly help old ladies cross the street. The world never bothered to care for him, it merely let him roam around on the surface and sob occasionally during coffee runs for his boss. He still wouldn’t admit to anyone that he couldn’t afford cough syrup or that his last meal consisted of stale bread, ketchup and week old ham. But then again, there wasn’t anyone to tell. He wasn’t sure which of those hurt most.

He found himself soaring seconds later as if he could escape his own head. There was a moment where he felt alive - when the rain was pouring down onto him and he was breathing heavily, cutting through thick winter air like a bullet. He shot the web to the next building over, and for a split second, he was worried it wouldn’t latch due to the rain. It caught, despite his anxieties, and he held on tightly as he was propelled through the air. He had no real destination in mind, but he couldn’t stop. 

Peter crossed five more buildings before he found life in the seemingly vacant city. The solacing beauty of the quiet was lost as he met the wet ground, suddenly submerged in nothing but sound and color. He was in the parking lot of some shabby bar, watching curiously as a fight broke out not ten paces from him. The men were swaying, obviously drunk, as they lunged for each other blindly. They collided messily, both soaking wet and struggling to take hits. He didn’t know how to proceed.

He thought of breaking it up but realized how pathetic he would look. He could see the headlines then, ‘Forgotten Spider-Man Stops Boring Fight To Remain Relevant,’ and to be perfectly honest, he didn’t enjoy the thought. Instead, Peter took off towards a dark alleyway near the bar, intent on changing out of his suit to prevent suspicion. People would wonder why Spider-Man would be drinking in some disgusting bar on West Avenue with homeless drunks and drug dealers. 

He dug his clothes out of the blue backpack, finding randomly assorted pieces of fabric that he couldn’t help but blame his past self for. All he had in the bag was a tight pair of acid washed jeans that he thought he had gotten rid of, and a dark blue hoodie that cut off at his navel. He had never wished he were dead more than in that moment. Apparently, past-Peter thought any old thing would be good enough to stuff in his bag. Because whoop-dee-doo, fuck. 

He sighed desperately, and hastily yanked his suit off, glad to be basked in darkness. Every item of clothing that came off was frantically stuffed in his bag as another piece was pulled on. He threw his dirty white converse onto the ground below him, quickly zipping up his bag to hide the red of his suit. He slung the bag over his shoulder and started pulling on his shoes, attempting to stay upright.

Peter looked down at himself in the darkness and assessed that his unfortunate choice of clothing wouldn’t matter much after three shots of whiskey and a fruity drink. He walked out of the foul-smelling alley, towards the entrance of the bar. The two men seemed to have given up on fighting, seeing as they were now just leaning against each other, mumbling profanities as onlookers frowned in disinterest. He was rapidly becoming soaked beneath the fall of rain, he ignored it the best he could, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head, partly masked and barely daunting. 

Once inside, he was met with a large group of discomforting people. They were sat around polished tables, throwing back dirty liquid as they spoke in grunts and grimaces. To his left, there was tarnished bar that was being scrubbed aggressively by a disheveled looking man in glasses. He looked more approachable than everyone else in the place, so Peter hesitantly walked up to him and took a seat. 

‘’Hey,’’ he tried, his voice weak below the sound of music. 

The man looked up and squinted at Peter from behind his glasses, ‘’You old enough to be here, kid?’’ 

He had long, dirty blonde hair and looked to be in his early thirties, yet he looked incredibly tired. There were stains on his shirt, but nothing compared to the nasty wound that went from the start of his jawline to just above his ear. ‘’I’m twenty-four, so yeah, I’m pretty sure.’’ 

‘’You look fifteen, but I’ll take your word for it,’’ he said, smiling slightly. ‘’What can I get you?’’ 

Peter glanced up at the board above his head, assuming he’d find a menu rather than a giant chalkboard with various names and numbers separated by thick lines. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but spoke anyway. ‘’Do you have anything, uh, fruity?’’ 

The man snickered softly, forcing Peter’s attention back to him and away from the unsettling board. ‘’I think I might have some grape flavored vodka underneath the counter, but don’t hold me to that.’’ 

He nodded, ‘’That’d be nice.’’ 

‘’So, what’s your name?’’ the man asked, leaving his rag on the bartop to disappear behind the counter, supposedly to retrieve the grape vodka he may or may not have. 

Peter leaned over the side, curious to where the man had gone. He found him on his knees, rustling with something he obviously couldn’t see. He heard an unnerving ‘clink’ that was shortly followed by the man pulling himself back up, a full bottle of grape vodka in hand. ‘’I’m Peter,’’ he told him, returning back to his seat, still eyeing the bottle. It looked new, but rather dusty. 

‘’I’m Weasel, nice to meet ya, Pete.’’ 

Weasel reached under the counter again, bringing up an unreasonably sized glass up to rest on the counter. ‘’I wouldn’t usually recommend drinking an entire glass of vodka, but that crop top you’re wearing makes me feel like you need to,’’ he commented, uncapping the bottle to tip it over and allow the liquid to gush into the glass. He did things efficiently, but his movements were slow, bored.

‘’How long have you been working here?’’ Peter questioned, curling his fingers around the bottom of the glass to drag it towards himself. He was uncomfortable with his lower stomach exposed, it made him more likely to be shanked, and in a place like this, it didn’t seem impossible. But despite his worry, he was Spider-Man. He was agile, quick, and skilled in what he did. His anxiety didn’t care much for it. 

He lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip, letting the sickeningly sweet liquid pool on his tongue. It burned his throat when he swallowed, there wasn’t enough sugar in the world to disguise the bitterness of hard alcohol. It was better than the empty feeling in his chest. He took another swig, hoping that he’d get used to the taste sooner rather than later. He was set on the idea that this would get him high, and when he was high, he was happy. Loneliness felt warmer when the world was blurry. 

Weasel began to wipe the bar again, ‘’Uh, it’s been five years, I think. It’s the only thing I’m good at.’’ 

‘’That’s cool,’’ Peter lied, wishing he could feel interested. ‘’At least you’re good at something.’’ 

The man shrugged his shoulders, ‘’It pays the bills, but it’s not the most glamorous of jobs.’’ 

‘’Why? I’ve always assumed that being a bartender meant being drunk and happy all the time while helping other people feel drunk and happy,’’ he told him, it was honest but still reluctant. 

That comment earned Peter a small chuckle from the man, it felt good. ‘’Nah, dude. There are good times, but the majority of the time, I’m breaking up fights. It’s how I earned this nasty thing,’’ Weasel admitted, bringing a sturdy hand up to point at the cut running across his face. It was still fresh. 

‘’Is it dangerous or something?’’ he asked, then felt incredibly idiotic. 

Weasel slumped his shoulders forward, a passive expression on his face. ‘’I guess so? It doesn’t really phase me anymore, it’s just annoying at this point.’’ 

Various people grumbled behind them, but Peter didn’t bother turning around. ‘’So, what’s up with the chalkboard?’’ he asked, pointing above the other man’s head. 

There was a slight pause, then Weasel turned slightly to glance at the board itself. ‘’Don’t run off crying or anything, kid, but it’s essentially a betting game that determines when people will die.’’ 

Peter would be lying if he pretended he didn’t blanch instantly, suddenly aware that his crude assumptions about this place were right. ‘’People place bets on each other? Why?’’ 

He made a dubious noise, ‘’This isn’t the best part of town. People die every day for random, stupid reasons so like, why not make money off of it?’’ 

The explanation registered uncomfortably in the back of Peter’s head, so he took another drink. This time, it was a mouth full that he struggled to swallow without gagging. Weasel didn’t seem very surprised, he merely went back to scrubbing the bartop and humming along with the radio. The next few moments were comfortable, he tuned out the sound of arguments behind him and let the alcohol take its effects on him. He felt warm, strangely calm, sleepy. 

That was, until another man slipped into the spot beside him. He barely acknowledged the elbows that were propped onto the counter or the instantaneous conversation that the man started with Weasel. He swallowed another mouthful of the borderline disgustingly sweet liqueur and finally pushed the glass away from himself, wholeheartedly content with the tipsy feeling within him. 

‘’Listen, Weasel, I almost ended up stabbing this guy on a job. He like, underestimated my will to casually murder someone and called me a fuckboy and I ended up choking him with his shoe laces, like, while they were still on the shoes… And okay, yeah, the shoes were on his feet. He was surprisingly flexible for a creep who stalks teenage girls, what a surprise,’’ the stranger rambled, shaking his head. 

Weasel barely blinked, pulling a glass out from beneath the counter to pour some bourbon into it. Peter’s brown eyes were hooded, his vision was blurring out from a mixture of vodka and exhaustion, and yet, he was still trying to process what was happening. 

The bartender didn’t seem bothered, nor did he ask what the man wanted. He acted mechanically, but nodded at every other expressive burst of conversation that came from the stranger. ‘’That’s fucked up, Wade, but I wouldn’t stab people if it wasn’t required,’’ he replied, pushing the freshly poured drink towards the stranger. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, and he couldn’t register the information that he was overhearing. He was so close and yet, nothing was being processed. 

‘’Can I… have some water?’’ Peter mumbled, obviously interrupting.

Weasel cleared his throat, then nodded. ‘’Sure, kid.’’ 

The man left the front center of the bar to walk into the back room, leaving him alone with the stranger. He spared a glance to the man, and found him staring back at him with wide blue eyes. ‘’Peter?’’ the stranger asked, practically slipping out of his chair. 

Peter squinted in confusion, and then, all of a sudden, it clicked. Wade Wilson. The mercenary. The man who offered him his number not 16 hours before. ‘’Oh, uh, hi.’’ 

‘’What’s a place like you doing in a boy like this?’’ he managed, a bright grin spreading across his stubble-ridden face. ‘’I… I meant that the other way around, you know.’’ 

Peter couldn’t help but smile in return, ‘’I didn’t have anywhere else to go, I guess.’’ 

‘’You could have called me, baby boy! You could have slipped right into daddy’s lap,’’ Wade gushed, eliciting a pretty blush from Peter, who would have blamed the alcohol rather than the flirting. 

He twisted in his stool to face Wade fully, ‘’I didn’t think you actually wanted me to call, you know.’’ 

‘’Pffft, Petey, I didn’t give you my number just for show.’’ 

Something unusual unraveled in Peter’s chest, it was like warmth and comfort swirled together to settle him back into his chair. He blamed the vodka again. ‘’What would I have said? Hey, Wilson, remember my cock? Yeah, I’m attached to it, wanna get dinner?’’ he slurred, laughing slightly at his own words. He felt more off-balanced than anything, he tried his best to make eye contact but he was sure his eyes would cross if he stared at the man for too long. 

Before Wade could reply, Weasel was back and shoving a full glass of tap water towards Peter. He reached out for it and tried not to knock it over with his shaky hands. The sleeves of his old hoodie slipped down past his hands, and he realized where all the excess fabric had gone. Instead of putting it on his stomach, it was given to his fucking sleeves. Fuck. Holy fuck. Why?

‘’You should have done exactly that,’’ Wade said, reaching for his drink. 

Weasel looked between them, ‘’You guys know each other?’’ 

‘’Yeah, I scared the shit out of him earlier today,’’ Wade answered, laughter laced his words attractively. 

Peter snorted, ‘’Don’t forget the part where I was mostly naked.’’ 

‘’I feel like you guys are leaving out a lot of context here, so I’m just going to ignore everything you said,’’ Weasel grumbled, walking towards another customer who had decided sitting all the way on the other side of the bar was polite. Peter snickered softly, blissfully under the influence. 

The rain outside continued to pour, accompanied by lightning that beckoned rumbling thunder. It was a dreary night, but he felt safe now. He tried not to think about his empty apartment or his lack of medicine or the anxiety that mimicked his spider-sense falsely. He was just Peter Parker in this moment. Not an anxious, poor millennial without impulse control. 

Wade took a long swig from his glass, leaving it almost half empty. ‘’How did you even end up here? Your apartment is… like fifteen blocks away.’’ 

‘’Can’t a person venture out farther than their apartment?’’ Peter questioned, trying to avoid the real reason he was in a foreign part of the city in a cropped hoodie. 

There was a moment of silence as the other man swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the ice clink against the cup. ‘’So, you’re telling me that you put on that outfit and decided you’d venture to the shady part of the city just because?’’

‘’I have my reasons, Wade,’’ Peter assured, but really, he just wanted to say his name. He liked the way it slipped off his tongue like it was meant to be uttered in the darkness of his bedroom. The thought lingered for seconds, soft and promising, before he squashed it down. If he wasn’t creepy before, he definitely was now. Had being alone for months caused him to turn into a weirdo? He sighed. 

Wade looked better beneath dim bar lights, his gaze wasn’t as knowing. He almost seemed subdued, softer. Peter realized that even killers could appear docile, it was all a trick of the eye. He felt idiotic, sitting in the presence of someone he’d almost call a friend. He didn’t belong there. 

The chemical imbalance in his brain swallowed the pleasure of being drunk. It all crashed on him at once, the realization that he was drunk and lonely and broke. Wade wasn’t his friend. Weasel wasn’t his friend. Speaking to someone for a few minutes, or even twice, doesn’t constitute friendship and Peter knew that deep down, where the anxiety surfaced and the vodka rose like bile in the back of his throat. 

‘’It’s late,’’ Peter said dumbly, his voice caught in his throat. He wanted to vomit. 

The mood had changed so quickly that Peter couldn’t identify one moment from another. The feeling in his stomach surmounted over his will to seem nonchalant. Everything happened in slow motion, he was struggling to stand and then he was doubling over and then he was swallowing his own tongue as the tears spilled down his cheeks. He couldn’t do anything right. He couldn’t socialize without remembering everything that he had lost. Everything was a cold reminder that he was alone. 

Wade found him in an instant. He was wrapping his arms around Peter’s slouched form, pulling him back up to his full height, exposing fresh tears and a perfected scowl to the drowsy overhead lights. He couldn’t process being in the grasp of a stranger. He couldn’t care for his own safety. ‘’Baby boy,’’ Wade whispered, voice low. ‘’Why are you really here?’’ 

Peter tried to find composure, but he was already talking, already revealing too much. ‘’I couldn’t go home, I couldn’t be alone with myself and my empty fucking apartment.’’ 

He was pulling himself away from the other man, trying to stand up straight without a crutch. He was an adult, not a child. He did not need someone to hold his hand, he was independent. He was strong on his own. And then, the impact of his own lies hit him tiredly. It was easier to believe he wanted to be alone because that meant it was his choice. If he admitted the truth, it would show that he’s really empty on the inside because he doesn’t have a choice. He’s doomed without reason. 

He turned back to find Wade frowning at him, it was jarring. ‘’I’m fine,’’ Peter amended, it was followed by forced laughter and awkward waves of his hand. ‘’I… You know, I just forgot to pay my, uh, Netflix subscription and, hah, why go home if you can’t watch Fargo?’’ 

Weasel was back and clearing their drinks from the bar, ‘’Nobody watches Fargo, Peter.’’ 

He wiped the tears from his eyes, ‘’I do.’’ 

‘’Oh, yeah?’’ Weasel challenged. ‘’Then what’s it about?’’ 

Peter grumbled, ‘’It’s like… about crime and…minnesota?’’ 

‘’Yeah, ‘cause crime and Minnesota are the most interesting of topics,’’ the bartender said, rolling his eyes. 

Wade stepped forward hesitantly, as if afraid Peter would flinch away. ‘’I have Fargo on DVD,’’ he tried, placing a solid hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. 

Weasel snorted, ‘’Of course you do, you fucking lunatic.’’ 

‘’Wanna come over and watch it with me?’’ he continued, the look on his face was enough to soothe the pounding of Peter’s heart. He wanted to know how the other man could make his voice so soothing when his hands were made for violence. He wanted to understand the contradiction. 

Peter knew it was a bad idea, he didn’t even like Fargo. But it was better than going home. ‘’Yeah, I’d like that,’’ he mumbled, refusing to look over and find Weasel squinting at them like he got something they didn’t. It didn’t take long for Wade to usher him out of the rowdy bar and into the drenched parking lot. There weren’t any cars parked, only empty spaces divided by yellow lines. 

‘’Where do you live?’’ Peter asked, shrugging his backpack farther onto his shoulders. 

Wade shuffled his feet, ‘’Manhattan.’’ 

Peter tried not to look surprised, ‘’Really?’’ 

‘’Turns out that murder really pays the bills,’’ the older man said, flashing a grin. 

They continued to walk from behind the bar into the restless streets, both cold beneath the shallow neon lights of the underbelly of New York City. Wade made the sirens sing again, they drone through the city and echo into the rain fall of night. It’s like he draws the life out of things and pushes it into the light, never allowing silence to settle.  
\--

‘’Did you ever speak to Vanessa?’’ Peter asked, it was strained. 

He had never been down the streets that Wade was walking, but he followed him anyways. 

Wade shrugged, ‘’Yeah, kinda.’’ 

‘’Kinda?’’ 

He made a dubious noise, ‘’She said she’d get it to me when she could and then slammed the door in my face, so I’m waiting on her, I guess.’’ 

Peter laughed, ‘’She’s usually nice, I’m sorry.’’ 

‘’She looked like she could bite my hand off, so I backed off, it’s all good.’’ 

There was a small pause before Peter looked over to Wade and furrowed his eyebrows, ‘’So, you’ll leave her alone ‘cause she’s spooky but nothing about me told you to back off?’’ 

‘’Nah,’’ he said, waving him off. ‘’It’s hard to fear doe-eyed boys in dishrags.’’ 

Peter felt offended. He was a superhero, he had taken out various villains in wild costumes; he was qualified to enter dangerous situations, and yet Wade saw him as a doughy child. Something pathetic welled up inside of him - he wanted to prove that he had skill, that he wasn’t just another young-adult who couldn’t function. He may have been sick and depressed, but he was talented. 

Spider-Man was all he had to his name, his alter ego was the only thing that built him up. Outside of his mask, he was lonesome and lost… Fuck, Wade might have been right, but he wasn’t going to admit that to anyone. He would hold onto what he had of himself. ‘’So, you think I’m weak?’’ 

‘’I’m sure you’d put up quite the fight, but Vanessa has claws, kid,’’ Wade explained, they were trailing down a darkened alleyway. He started to feel as if they had no real destination to find. But then they were approaching a crowded street, cars were passing quickly and the rain was beginning to pour again. He was succumbing to the feeling of melancholy, even within the presence of company. 

Wade stepped forward, lifting a hand to the oncoming traffic. ‘’I think you’d be surprised,’’ he told the man, even though his voice was smothered by the downfall of rain and the screeching of tires against wet cement. When a car finally slowed down, he followed him into the backseat of the taxi and sat as far away as possible. ‘’I’m trained in combat,’’ Peter continued talking, fighting for acknowledgment. 

The older man looked over, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. ‘’Where did you train?’’ 

‘’When I was younger, I did a lot of … parkour… and uh, hand-to-hand combat with my ...friends?’’ Peter tried, he couldn’t exactly tell the man that he was a superhero. That wouldn’t go well. He wished he was better at lying, or perhaps better at storytelling. 

After years of hiding his identity, he should have been better at this. He should have been able to run circles around people with excuses and explanations, but he had forgotten how to manipulate situations. He had been so lonely, so lost, that there was no need for emotional distortion. He had nobody to lie to. There wasn’t a single person around to care about his secret identity. 

Wade tilted his head curiously, looking Peter over, sending his heart down into his stomach. ‘’You don’t seem like the type, but that’s really cool, Petey. I’m sure you’re able to fend off tons of angry toddlers with your skills and all,’’ he amended playfully, white teeth exposed in a killer smile. He was messing with Peter. It all clicked into place. 

He glared at the man, ‘’You’re an asshole.’’ 

‘’Born and raised, baby boy, you know it.’’ 

\---- 

They arrived at an expensive-looking apartment building, and Peter was sure he had seen it in a magazine once. When he exited the cab, he forced himself to look at the sidewalk, convinced he couldn’t even afford to glance at the place. ‘’Are we at the right place?’’ he asked his companion, discomforted by the luxury fountain glistening not ten paces from him. 

Wade gave him a confused look as he paid the driver. ‘’I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t forget where I lived, Petey-Pie.’’ 

‘’If you live here, why do you go to that shitty bar across town?’’

The man scoffed, ‘’Shitty, huh?’’ 

‘’No, no, I mean… It’s just not….’’ Peter looked upwards to the towering building, gesturing vaguely towards it. ‘’This.’’ 

Laughter left Wade’s mouth in short, soft breaths. ‘’I get it, I get it. But Weasel works there, so that’s the reason I frequent the bar. And also, I wouldn’t want to drink with fancy people, they’re all pretentious and they smell like wheat bread. Who eats fucking wheat bread?’’ 

‘’I don’t,’’ Peter said briefly, thinking it over. ‘’But it’s because I can’t afford it.’’ 

Wade grinned, ‘’Want me to buy some for you to try and spit out?’’ 

He snorted, ‘’Man, sugar daddies are different in real life.’’ 

Peter earned a hearty laugh from the other man, it made his heart swell. They turned to walk towards the entrance of the apartment building, far closer than they had ever been before. He almost forgot their rough beginning and the downpour in Weasel’s bar. It was all a distant memory as they walked through an open, lavishly furnished lobby towards the elevators. 

He felt like a teenager again, nervous to look and find Wade staring back at him. The man was so charming, but so strange. He almost seemed comical, unreal, as he walked in long, confident strides. He was tall and muscular, something Aunt May would joke about pursuing in her fashion magazines. Peter missed May in that moment, he wished he had someone to call, someone to tell about this. 

Once they were within the elevator, Wade’s ringed finger pressed the button for the 44th floor. The doors closed them in, and the man turned to face Peter, the predatory look from earlier back and prowling as he moved forward. ‘’So, Fargo, huh?’’ he mumbled, close to pressing Peter into the railing of the elevator. 

‘’Y-yeah,’’ Peter breathed, he felt dirty, but it was just another conversation. Just another night. 

Wade smiled, quirking an eyebrow up in return. ‘’This is going to be fun,’’ he said, and then he was moving away, slipping closer to the doors. ‘’I haven’t seen Fargo in years.’’ 

Aftershocks went down Peter’s spine, like they did more than converse. ‘’I’ve… Yeah, me neither.’’ 

The doors opened, and he followed the older man into the carpeted hall. There were watercolor paintings on the wall, all orange and gray, it was simple decor. He tried to focus on it, but he could think of nothing but Wade pushing his hoodie off his shoulders and shoving him into the wall. He was flushed bright red by the time the older man’s apartment door was open. 

Wade’s apartment wasn’t anything like Peter had imagined it. It was all wide, open space and floor-to-ceiling windows with gray curtains flowing down effortlessly. He spotted three doors, to which he assumed to be entrances to bedrooms and bathrooms; but he hadn’t even entered the place yet, he was thinking too much already. He stepped out of the doorway, letting the other man close it. 

‘’So, make yourself feel at home!’’ Wade said, smiling. ‘’Take off your shoes, your shirt, your pants… I’m kidding, do you want something to drink?’’ 

Peter laughed awkwardly, ‘’Can I have some water? I think I need a calm down after that drink at the bar, it was a lot.’’ 

‘’Pfft, it was one glass,’’ he retorted, kicking his boots off before walking to the kitchen, yanking open the stainless steel fridge and reaching for a bottle of water. He closed the door, and tossed the bottle in Peter’s direction. If it weren’t for his quick reflexes, he was sure it would have impacted the floor and burst open onto the hardwood. He twisted the cap off the top, still unmoving, afraid to step forward. 

Wade watched him from the kitchen, the smallest show of confusion on his angled face. ‘’Wanna watch Fargo now or later?’’ he asked, ignoring Peter’s disposition out of uncertainty. 

‘’If I said later, what would we do in the in-between?’’ Peter questioned, asking instead of answering. 

In the back of his head, he knew what he wanted them to do in-between. Somewhere beneath the loneliness, there was an animalistic urge for touch. He craved a feeling that wasn’t self-inflicted, and he stood in the doorway of a stranger, fingers twitching, afraid to let himself go. He was terrified he’d break, that he’d stride forward and put his faith in Wade, in pleasure, in ritualistic goodbyes. 

‘’We could get to know each other more?’’ the other man suggested, and Peter allowed himself to nod despite the thrumming of his heart in his chest. 

He followed Wade to the couch, they sat closer than near-strangers should have. ‘’How do we do this?’’ Peter heard himself ask, but he was focusing on the way their knees touched. The couch was big enough for six people, but they sat in the middle, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of each other. 

‘’We could just ask questions? I’m fucking beat. It’s been a long day. I got run out of Rite-Aid for monologuing about condoms, but hey, there’s too many kinds. I get it, but I don’t, you know?’’ Wade said, and all Peter caught was ‘Beat’ and ‘Condoms’. He felt like a teenager. A dumb, sex-crazed teenager. 

He scrambled for questions to ask, but he was partly drunk and turned on and exhausted. ‘’Do you have a favorite author?’’ 

‘’Oh, fuck, I’m not really into books. But if I had to choose, I’d say Allen Ginsberg because he was gay and looked like a dandelion. I also have a theory he that was high 90% of the time, so fuck yeah, Ginsy,’’ Wade rambled, and the smaller man listened intently to the draw of his voice. ‘’How ‘bout you?’’ 

Peter squinted, slouching into the couch, trying to remember something about himself. ‘’Oh, uh, Toni Morrison.’’ 

‘’Why?’’ Wade asked, encouraging him to elaborate. Peter really wished he hadn’t. 

It started with lame hand motions, ‘’Uh, she’s really descriptive, and I’m into vivid works because they project fiction and written word into the real world.’’ 

‘’That’s fuckin’ cool, Petey,’’ the older man told him, a lazy smile lining his lips. 

Peter groaned, ‘’Wade, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to talk about books or rite-aid or myself.’’ 

There was a pregnant pause, where the man looked at him in earnest and Peter tried to erase himself with pure will power. He knew he had fucked up then. He knew he ruined another friendship, but it was his best skill. He didn’t need friends. He had himself and it was… It was enough. Fuck. 

‘’I’m sorry,’’ he said, when Wade had nothing to say. The tears were starting again. He and Aunt May had spoken about this before she died, they discussed his ability to make something out of nothing. She had told him to learn to stay calm, to remain in control, but he wasn’t able to. He had failed her and himself. He couldn’t even stay composed in social situations. 

He deserved to be alone. He should have ended his self-inflicted shift as Spider-Man and went home to his messy apartment. He should have eaten cold ramen in bed while listening to nothing but televisions going off in other apartments. Peter’s life was full of ‘should haves’ because he never did what he was supposed to. He convinced himself he could be different. But he didn’t belong in Weasel’s bar or Wade’s apartment or even in New York City. He belonged somewhere quiet, somewhere dark. 

Peter went to stand up, afraid that Wade would react violently to his admittance. He thought of Harry in that moment, who had shoved him down onto the floor due to his inability to keep his thoughts to himself. Harry Osborn still thought he was pathetic to this day, and it was partly true, partly understandable. ‘’Peter, stop,’’ Wade demanded, but his voice was unbelievably soft. 

He hesitantly sat back down, he had begun to tremble and it took everything within him to keep himself still, motionless. ‘’What?’’ he forced out, unable to meet the other man’s eyes. 

‘’If you don’t want to talk, what do you want to do?’’ Wade asked firmly, concerned. 

Peter finally met his eyes, ‘’I want to be distracted.’’ 

‘’I can do that,’’ the older man said, voice breathy. ‘’Tell me what to do, baby boy.’’ 

He blinked away the tears, pushing down the embarrassment and hatred. ‘’Kiss me?’’ 

When Wade leaned forward and connected their lips, a violent shiver went down Peter’s spine. He slipped his arms around the other man’s neck and basked in the feeling of kissing someone he knew he shouldn’t kiss. Wade Wilson was a stranger, a mercenary, but he tasted of bourbon and it was addictive, it pulled Peter back in again and again - until the sun glared in through the curtains.

He couldn’t think of the downsides of it, only of the warm feeling that pooled in his stomach and the feeling of comfort spreading throughout his body. He forgot his address and the phone number that he had tried so hard to remember. But really, who needs phone numbers when you can kiss the person instead?


	3. Comparisons and Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade is making too much food, Peter is making new discoveries. Together, they're having breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry it has taken me this long to update!! Chaptered stories are hard. I hope this chapter makes you all feel a little better about Peter's situation. Hope it was worth the wait. :D
> 
> #MakePeterParkerBetterAgain
> 
> (Contact me @Bottompotter on Tumblr)

When Peter woke up, he was slanted awkwardly into the couch with a crick in his neck. He groaned pathetically, thinking that it had all been an embarrassing, but generally underserved dream. When he sat up, he was surprised to find a complete change in environment. He wracked his brain for an explanation and found nothing but a distant throbbing and the lyrics to a Paramore song. He pushed himself up, his legs threatening to give out as he stood and swayed in place. 

There was a startling moment where he wobbled too far to the right, his stomach lurching as he struggled to stand up straight. The sticky feeling began to become more and more apparent on his skin as he did so, and he tried to pretend that the world wasn’t crashing down just as he fell to his knees. He took a stuttering breath inwards, willing the bile in his throat to falter. Something angry welled up inside of him - something shaky and painful - and he struggled to force it down. 

‘’Baby boy?’’ A voice called from behind him, and Peter halted immediately, unsure. 

Without warning, the realization of who, what and where came rushing back to him. He attempted to stand, but he couldn’t will himself to move. He watched his fingers sprawl against the hardwood flooring, anxious, shaking. He inhaled. ‘’Wade?’’ he tried, his voice croaky from disuse. He tried not to think about how childish he must look sitting on the floor, hunched over. 

A steady hand was placed on his shoulder, and Peter looked over to find Wade settled onto his knees as well. It was something that simultaneously comforted and unsettled him. ‘’You’re a rollercoaster, aren’t ya, kid?’’ Wade asked, his hand working in small circles to soothe the tension from his muscles. He had capable hands, and Peter did not have the heart to question where they’d been; he let himself be muddled with, he let his shoulders drop forward submissively, unquestioning. 

Without an answer, Wade became more comfortable beside him wearing nothing but loose sweatpants and a ratty tank top, it was something that Peter refused to think about. In the back of his mind, he wondered why this man currently looked more like home than his actual home did. He remembered the basket of dirty clothes, the broken refrigerator light, and the microwave that never worked; he found himself in those things, wandering farther and farther away from a quick fix. 

He could almost recall moving into his inexpensive apartment. Aunt May’s disapproving voice had trailed down his single hallway, rattling off about chipped paint and exposed wires. To her, it was a fire hazard. To Peter, it was all he owned. Some days, he was more of an apartment than he was a human. He was faulty light fixtures and broken power sockets and windows that couldn’t lock. He was assured suicide, or perhaps, he was the key to a door that nobody cared to enter. Either way, there were two ways in and one way out. The choice wasn’t very hard. 

Wade cleared his throat, ‘’I’m trying to understand, so why don’t you help me?’’  
Peter was shaken from his inner-monologue, and he was almost sickened to find himself in the same place. No amount of thinking would change the colors of the walls around him, even if they weren’t his to paint over. He wanted to be somewhere safe, like in the living room of Aunt May’s house, which belonged to a happy Asian family now. He begrudgingly noted that they wouldn’t appreciate him slinking in uninvited with his stained backpack and exhaustion-ringed eyes. It was a downing thought. 

‘’Why would you care?’’ Peter asked, his voice laced with a bored interest. It had been too long. 

This was the same attitude that got him professionally escorted out of the Osborn family home. It was a mixture of exhaustion, pain, and depression. On the rocks, of course. It was what you’d drink if you were ready to destroy every relationship you’ve ever invested time in or if you were trying to chuck yourself off of a state building without caring about what caught you at the bottom. Wade seemed like another casualty at this point, he was a man that Peter would mourn later. Not now. Not tomorrow. 

Wade had a funny way of processing things. ‘’Listen, Peter, I’m not going to lie to you. I place bets on men with functioning families, and I take down men with enough money to buy your apartment sixteen times over; I’m not often empathetic. Unless, of course, the situation calls for it. And uh, looking at you, kid, you’re not exactly something a sympathetic man would look over.’’ 

A laugh bubbled up involuntarily, it was a bitter sound. ‘’I haven’t met many sympathetic men.’’ 

‘’If you’re looking in Weasel’s bar, I can see why,’’ Wade replied, his thumb stroking back and forth against the fabric of Peter’s hoodie. It was distantly soothing. There were words beneath the ones spoken, but Peter’s mind was an alphabet of scrambled words. They all looked the same to him, only this time around, they were encrypted with meaning. He prayed away the enigma of his own mind. 

Peter took a stuttering breath inwards, almost embarrassed by the way his chest shook with the exertion of it. He was embarrassed to breathe. Embarrassed to live. He knew his heartbeat was beneath layers of jacket material and skin, pulsing rapidly against a searching hand. If anything, it was undeniable proof that he was alive. A sign of faith in the darkness. ‘’You were in Weasel’s bar,’’ Peter said flatly, his brown eyes digging holes into the floorboards.

Wade laughed, it was a breathy sound. ‘’You caught me there. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t rip holes into my analogies,’’ he quipped playfully, it was too pure of a sound. 

‘’An analogy is… is a comparison of two things, and that’s not technically what you were using. There wasn’t an analogy to rip apart to begin with,’’ Peter told him, ungracefully falling onto his right side. Wade’s hand was abruptly removed, leaving the imprint of warmth on his shoulder blade. He was looking up at the older man now, close to tears, close to smiling. ‘’Try again,’’ he said like it was okay. 

Wade grinned at him, it crinkled at the corners of his blue eyes and lit up his face. ‘’I failed Language Arts in High School,’’ he admits. It’s casual, simple. 

‘’Did you graduate?’’ Peter asked, removing the attention from himself. 

The older man snorted, ‘’I had to blow the principle, but yeah, I graduated. Diploma and all.’’ 

Peter blanched, ‘’Really?’’ 

‘’To what? Me blowing the guy or me graduating?’’ 

Wade moved back to sit on the floor, he seemed unreal. He was a vivid portrayal of someone that Peter shouldn’t have had the luxury to meet. He was a glimpse at Friday night dinner dates, cable television, and dreaming without nightmares. Or maybe he was a vision of everything Peter couldn’t have. Something shifted the broken glass that had shattered in his stomach long ago, cutting into vulnerable walls of his abdomen. He wondered when his mirror had turned into a knife. 

‘’Blowing the… the guy?’’ Peter stuttered out, blatantly embarrassed. He was an adult for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t be getting flustered over vague mentions of sexual activity. And yet, there he was. 

There was a small pause. The older man’s eyes were searching as they scanned Peter’s reddened face. The room suddenly felt too small.

‘’Well, you see,’’ Wade began, as if he was also afraid of the implication of silence, ‘’I was really interested in comic books, rather than homework, and my principal looked like Wally West…. I told him I’d suck his cock if I could pass. And boy, oh, boy, he was disappointing. He lasted for three minutes, tops. It just felt like another day for me and my desperate ass.’’ 

Peter’s brown eyes were wide, accompanying the bright red blush staining his cheeks. It had to be the wildest thing he’d ever heard. Wade was grinning with a curious look in his eyes. Then, without warning, he began to laugh. It was a deep, rumbling sound. It caused Peter to sink back into himself, incredibly confused and bashful. ‘’You believed me, didn’t you?’’ Wade choked out between cackles. 

‘’What? That wasn’t true?’’ Peter sputtered, shifting in his spot. 

‘’No! You really think I have the skills to blow a high school principal?’’ 

‘’I can never tell with you!’’ he exclaimed, close to curling into himself. He was such a child. 

Wade grinned, sleep still rested on his face in some places. He looked like someone’s dad. Someone’s really, really hot dad. ‘’Good,’’ he decided finally, moving to stand up. ‘’We can’t spend all morning on the floor, though. You gotta get up, Petey-Pie, it’s a new day. A new life!’’ 

An irrational fear dug its nails into his heart, ‘’Where are we going?’’ 

With a quick glance behind him, Wade said, ‘’To the kitchen.’’ 

‘’Why?’’ 

‘’I made breakfast? It’s probably kin to Frosty by now, but I have a microwave, so it’s fine.’’ 

With that, Wade gave him a slow smile and padded from the living room floor to the kitchen, disappearing behind a corner. Peter sighed shakily, pushing himself from the ground. One step forward, two steps back. This was his one step - making it across the room. He zipped his hoodie up as far as it would go, ignoring the drive-in show of his midriff that was exposed to the whole world. 

\--- 

‘’Do you want to sit on the floor or at the table?’’ Wade asked, tampering with the nobs on the stove. Peter watched him from across the counter, not having quite made it into the kitchen yet. It felt too small for them both to dwell in. It was a strange balance, having the older man be so relaxed while Peter pulled his own strings tight to make sure nothing unraveled. He hadn’t always been this way, but somewhere along the line, he had developed a strong sense of disease and ended up here, unnerved. 

A forced scoff left his mouth, ‘’The ceiling?’’ 

He felt like an embarrassment to the human race for leaving such an impression on the other man. Humor was the only way to slide past it without daring himself to slam his head into the marble countertop. 

Wade snickered, ‘’Now, now, baby boy… Neither of us is Spider-Man, but I’ll accommodate you.’’ 

Peter sniffed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘’Yeah, Spider-Man, what a guy.’’ 

‘’I’ve been after that spandex ass for God knows how long, but he’s always up so high,’’ Wade said casually, using the spatula to slip freshly made pancakes onto a plate. There were two stacks full of waffles behind him on the island that were deemed ‘’too cold’’ to eat, but Peter would have eaten them frozen. He once ate frozen lima beans out of a freezer burnt package. Good times. 

Despite Wade’s lack of knowledge on him and the critically acclaimed hero being the same person, he flushed bright red. ‘’Ever tried using the stairs?’’ he tried, his voice threatening to falter. 

‘’Fuck, I wouldn’t make it halfway up all those stairs before dying from a stroke.’’ 

Peter hummed, it was a forced noise. ‘’Aren’t mercenaries supposed to be, I dunno, healthy and stuff?’’ 

‘’Hah, yeah. But I live off of whiskey and pancakes so I’m not exactly the fittest of killers,’’ Wade explained, forcing Peter to notice the muscles bulging out in his arms and the impressive line of his spine as he flipped pancakes. Whiskey and pancakes? Yeah, right. 

A moment passed, ‘’If you can afford this apartment, why don’t you live a Wholefoods lifestyle?’’ 

‘’So, uh, because I make money and all… You think I should stuff my face full of leaves?’’ 

Without warning, a startled laugh left Peter’s mouth and disrupted the silence. He giggled for a few seconds, momentarily distracted. Wade spared a glance in his direction, giving him a little smirk in return. He seemed proud to have finally drawn a laugh from the reactionless, only turning back to tend to his pancakes. ‘’That’s exactly what you should do. That’s the key to happiness,’’ Peter managed, still on the verge of laughter, even as it died down. 

‘’Well, personally, I think the key to happiness is your real laugh, kid.’’ 

\---  
They ended up sitting at the table with a large majority of both hot and cold foods among them. Peter, without realizing it, spent time a painful amount of time trying to see how long this would last him with mathematical calculations. The entire table of food, which was quickly being inhaled by Wade, would have stretched over the course of three months for him alone. Despite his immense appetite, he did not have the money or the means to consume large amounts of food meaninglessly. 

In the middle of his useless calculation, he caught himself monologuing and tried his best to shut it down. The thoughts refused to stop pouring into his brain. He stabbed a fork into a single pancake and pulled it onto his plate, intentionally avoiding the assertive gaze of Wade. He had kissed the man but still couldn’t commit to something so intimate as eye contact. Peter found that he did not often make sense. He tipped a plastic bottle of syrup over, watching the dark substance drizzle out onto his food. He didn’t stop until the entire plate was smothered in syrup and his pancake was barely visible. 

‘’Got a thing for sugar rushes or something, kid?’’ Wade asked, his voice muffled by the pancake in his mouth. It should have been disgusting, him speaking with his mouth full, but it was vaguely endearing. 

He wrinkled his nose, ‘’Yeah, something like that.’’ 

Peter didn’t bother cutting into it like a sensible person would. Instead, he folded it over with his fork and jabbed it until he had the entire pancake on the end of it, dripping. Then, without hesitancy, he shoved half of it into his mouth and began to chew frantically. Wade watched on with raised eyebrows, unsure of what he was witnessing as Peter managed to swallow down half of an entire pancake without all that much difficulty at all. ‘’You know, I thought you’d eat slowly but you…’’ 

‘’You were thinking about me eating?’’ Peter asked, trying to casually tongue the syrup off his top lip and speak at the same time. 

It was Wade’s turn to feel out of place, ‘’I was, yeah. Got a problem?’’ 

‘’Always,’’ he retorted, barely processing the answer. He was already trying to jam the rest of his pancake into his mouth, effectively silencing any further conversation. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t stop thinking about how they had kissed and supposedly weren’t talking about it. He worried that Wade regretted it, and more importantly, he worried he did as well. He didn’t feel like he was in control of his own feelings. It was like there was an emotional guide on his shoulder, telling him when and how to react. If that was true, it wasn’t very good at its job. Not in the slightest. 

‘’Y’know, I’ve seen and met people from a lot of different places,’’ Wade began, slicing into a particularly thick pancake. ‘’But you’re probably the most confusing one that I’ve ever come across.’’ 

A discomforted feeling rose in Peter’s chest, ‘’Why?’’ 

‘’Well, uh, you kissed me… but you won’t make eye contact with me. Usually, when I’ve kissed someone, it goes somewhere and doesn’t lead to me awkwardly watching them scarf back badly made pancakes like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Like I wouldn’t mind being Richard Gere, you just gotta let me know what’s going on here, baby boy,’’ Wade explained, only stopping to take a bite of his food. 

Peter’s heart sunk into his stomach, rendering him silent as time rolled past. This wasn’t the first time he had heard this. He was always weaving people up, entangling them in his own contradiction. It was one of his best excuses for isolation. He had effectively convinced himself that he was too ensnared in his own webbing to ever be free from it. Some moments felt safe, others did not. He confused his lovers with villains and was unable to explain that he knew delusions better than reality. 

It was easier to leave than it was to explain the crime scene in his head. It was easier to live alone, to sleep alone, to exist alone. But then there was Wade, who had picked him up and steadied him without knowing that he was balancing the unbalanced. He could kiss, he could manage but he could not explain. No matter how wholesome the older man looked beneath the soft yellow lights of the kitchen, he was the embodiment of imminent paranoia. Peter could already imagine the lies he’d tell himself. 

Without warning, he tricked himself into telling the truth. Or half of it. ‘’Sometimes, I’m alright to do normal things… like, kiss you… Other times, I fake myself out and find my actions ridiculous and incriminating. It’s like, uh, we kissed impulsively, and then I…Well, I’m worried it was a bad move.’’ 

He focused on the lower half of Wade’s stubble-ridden face, waiting for the deserved anger to leave his pink lips. He recalled Gwen being especially upset with him over this. Nobody wanted to love a man that wasn’t constant, and how terrible it was to be inconstant in a world full of consistency. People thrived on fluidity, on someone that they could count on. And Peter, well, he wasn’t that person. He was unreturned phone calls, unanswered text messages, and maybe even empty space. 

Peter deserved all the loneliness and heartache because it was his fault. 

‘’Why was it a bad move?’’ Wade asked, instead of driving another nail into Peter’s coffin. 

Peter eyed the other pancakes, still starving but unable to reach forward and claim another. This felt tense. He owed a genuine, honest apology to this man but his feelings weren’t easy to swallow. Even he lost his appetite with how unfair and degrading his emotions were. It made the children who looked up to him as Spider-Man harder to listen to. They were in love with a mirage of heroism and hope. 

A shaky moment passed, and then he spoke with his deceptively steady voice. ‘’You might think I’m irrational now, or easy, or both. I live on a bad side of town and obviously, I’m not rich. You could think I’m trying to take your money or sell my body or rob you or -’’ 

‘’Peter,’’ Wade breathed out shakily, interrupting him. Pity and surprise were painted his face into a worried frown. ‘’Why would I think any of that about you?’’ 

Gwen Stacy’s disapproving grimace appeared in the forefront of his mind, it was a distant memory from the last time they saw each other. She was not beautiful then, she was crying. She was upset that it wasn’t working out between them, but Peter was blank. He had watched her pace the floors, her voice an octave away from yelling as uncharacteristic violence left her mouth. He had driven her to the edge. She was tired of his bullshit. He was too. ‘’I don’t know,’’ Peter lied, wringing his hands in his lap.

Wade continued to look at him, almost unsure of what to say. ‘’You’re worried about what I, a mercenary, will think of you?’’ 

‘’It doesn’t matter who you are. It doesn’t matter if you hang children by their toes. You can’t get worse than me, and I know that, which is why I assumed you’d figure it out, too.’’ 

A scoff left Wade’s mouth, ‘’So, what have you done then? What’s your cryptic, violent backstory that makes you the worst?’’ 

Peter focused on his own hands, his vision threatened to blur as tears welled up in his brown eyes. He inhaled carefully, trying to hold it together. ‘’I’ve driven everyone away. I’m alone all the time. I don’t know what I’ve done, but something is there. Something is wrong. I have to be bad. If I weren’t, then why would they leave me behind? Why would I be like this?’’ 

‘’You’re sick,’’ Wade said simply like it was the most apparent thing. 

Somewhere outside, a police siren sounded and reminded them both that they weren’t the only two people in the world. ‘’What?’’ Peter asked, his voice cracked around the words as they escape his chapped lips. A foreign feeling coated the inside of his throat, similar to the way the syrup covers the plate, erasing a previous identity. Wade’s words echoed in his head, bouncing off the prison-like walls of his mind. Sick. Sick. Sick? 

‘’I don’t need a degree in psychology to know that something is wrong. And by your reaction, I’m almost certain you’re not aware of it. Which means that all those people weren’t either. I bet you any amount of money that they didn’t consider a mental illness, they just thought you were being distant intentionally. They left out of ignorance, not intent,’’ Wade clarified, digging back into his pancakes. 

It felt like a punch to the gut. Peter had never considered that before. It seemed so casual to the other man. Mental illness had always seemed very serious to him, like something unable to be mentioned unless in the stale, blinding room of a doctor’s office. It had been brought up once in his past, then abruptly disregarded because he was too busy to think about himself. He could suddenly climb up walls, why would he worry about his dysfunctional brain? Why would it matter at all? 

The tears that he had tried so hard to keep down welled up along with the reality of his situation. They dripped down his hollow cheeks, tickling his face. ‘’I’m sure it’s something else, W-Wade. It doesn’t have to be a sickness. Maybe I’m just a bad person,’’ he was back to lying, it was pathetic. He regretted the words as they left his mouth. He wasn’t looking for pity, but he was trying to bandage the wound. He didn’t need this man giving him sympathy because he didn’t deserve it. 

Wade frowned, taking another bite of pancake. He seemed to be thinking hard about this situation like he couldn’t find the words to explain. After he swallowed and took in the silence, he spoke, ‘’I’ve seen bad people, Peter. I know bad people. And you, despite what you think, are not a bad person.’’ 

‘’You’ve only known me for a day or so,’’ Peter grumbled, sniffling and trying to rub the sob-induced snot from running down his lip. He knew his eyes were blood-shot, so instead of looking up, he glared at the stack of buttered pancakes in front of him and waited for another rebuttal. 

A moment passed, ‘’It takes four years to fully know someone, but it only takes two minutes to make a first impression. It’s my job to know who is good and who is bad. I’ve never been wrong, baby boy. You’re another adult living alone in New York City who is perpetually isolated and anxious, probably nihilistic, too, right? You’re broke, single and out of luck. But you’re not bad. Not even close.’’ 

The tears worsened, causing Peter to use both hands to try and wipe them away before they could splash against the wood of the table. A stuttering cry left his mouth before he could stop it. He was becoming overwhelmed quickly, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was both reassured and close to unconvinced. He closed his eyes, hoping to lessen the presence of salty tears. Before he knew it, Wade was standing up and moving around the table to enclose his arms around Peter. 

‘’It’s okay,’’ Wade cooed, his raw voice suddenly as soft as silk. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ 

Peter turned in his chair, pressing himself into the heat of the other man’s body. ‘’I just want to feel better,’’ he cried, basking in the comfort of someone who should have felt more like a stranger than relief. 

‘’I’m going to help you, kid. I promise.’’

They stayed like that until Peter’s stomach growled, indicating that it wanted more pancakes and less sobbing.


	4. Coffee and Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are exposed, coffee is consumed, and kisses are shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!! I've had this written for ages, but editing is such a problem. I'm still looking for a beta reader, so if you know anyone, hit me up!! 
> 
> #MakePeterBetterAgain
> 
> (Song of this chapter is: Stay Awhile by She & Him)

‘’Do you ever worry you’re missing out on a normal life?’’ Peter questioned, tucked safely into the corner of Wade Wilson’s leather couch with a blanket slung around his narrow shoulders. 

Wade was on the other end of the couch, toying with the buttons of a television remote. He had been tampering with it for the last twenty minutes, claiming he wasn’t home enough to remember how to use it. And Peter had believed him, completely content with sitting in silence and watching the older man. Wade didn’t answer the question, instead, he gave one back, ‘’What do you consider a normal life?’’

Peter drew his legs up to his chest, unsure of how to articulate his thoughts. ‘’Uh, I guess working a regular job and paying taxes and having a consistent partner…. And being able to use a remote control.’’ 

An indignant scoff left Wade’s mouth, ‘’I can load a gun in fifteen seconds but I can’t find the ‘on’ button, fucking figures. But to answer your question, ah, I don’t know. I wouldn’t say I worry about it, per say, but I do know that my life isn’t conventional or alluring to most people. I don’t need a white picket fence to have a consistent partner, though. No hand painted mailbox needed.’’ 

‘’Do you have a partner now?’’ Peter asked, attempting to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

Suddenly, the television screen lit up and a loud, booming noise echoed throughout the apartment. Neither of them flinched. Peter had spent the majority of his teenage years with police sirens blaring in his ears, so it seemed more like a fork being dropped on the other side of the house to him. And Wade, well… Nothing really bothered him from what Peter could tell. They were both corrupt and tainted. 

‘’I said that I didn’t need a mailbox, not that people were actively interested in dating me.’’ 

In the back of Peter’s mind, the outcast voice of romance chimed in. ‘’I am,’’ Peter thought, frowning. ‘’You look like Aunt May’s worst nightmare, but fuck, I am.’’

‘’Ah! Shit, there it is. Prime time television,’’ Wade amended as an ad for personal lubricant began to play on the flat screen. Light projected downwards onto the dark, wooden floors as a woman was pressed into the shelves of a Grocery Store aisle. ‘’Sheesh, this feels like soft-core porn, which I, by the way, do not recommend. I would rather get off to a snow globe filled with cat piss than watch softcore porn.’’ 

Peter wrinkled his nose, disgusted by the imagery. ‘’Back to the point, Wade.’’ 

Wade chucked the remote onto the coffee table, watching it clatter onto the glass and then promptly slide right off of it onto the floor. The sound of batteries being forcefully ejected from their slots was a cringe-worthy noise, but Peter did not flinch in the slightest. 

‘’I don’t think I’m missing anything or anyone,’’ the older man continued resolutely, finally turning to return Peter’s resting gaze.‘’But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t consider it, if you’re offering.’’ 

Peter’s hooded eyes seemed to focus then in realization. He spoke before he could think.‘’I… What? I’m not. I wouldn’t be. I’m not like, well, I-I’m not the candidate for a normal life and you… Well, you…’’ he sputtered, tripping over his own tongue and effectively making himself look like a rambling child. 

Wade raised his eyebrows, ‘’What am I?’’ 

‘’You’re… you,’’ Peter managed poorly, only able to frown in return. The look on the older man’s face was almost sad. 

A moment passed, and Wade seemed to be putting the pieces together, ‘’Am I too dangerous for you, Petey? Are you afraid of me?’’

Shivers slipped down Peter’s spine, ‘’No.’’ 

‘’Then what is it? What am I?’’ 

‘’You and I are just very different,’’ Peter said, at a loss for words. He began to feel out of place again. 

‘’How?’’ Wade asked, settling back into his seat. ‘’Do you think you’re missing out on a normal life?’’ 

As they returned back to the initial question, Peter thought about the Spider-Man suit in his bookbag, which was shoved between the wall and the couch in a mock-protective shield. He recalled his dead parents, the loss of his uncle, and the lack of social interest in his life. He realized, in that moment, how incredibly lonely and unfortunate his life truly was. ‘’Yeah, I do. I wish I had normality, and consistency, and support.’’ 

‘’Why don’t you have that?’’ 

Peter shifted in his spot, lifting his head to meet Wade’s searching eyes. ‘’I was so caught up in things that didn’t matter, things I couldn’t control, that everything else became background noise. You can’t be normal when you catastrophize things in your life and minimize the people who love you. And surely, I can’t like - expect people to stay when I can’t fathom empathy or love in return.’’ 

‘’If you’re so aware of it, then why don’t you change it?’’ Wade questioned, his voice was tense, unsure. 

Peter’s chest hurt but he refused to drop his head in defeat. ‘’The feelings, or rather the lack of them, overwhelm me. They control me, possess me even, and I’m left to surrender. It doesn’t matter what I do or who I talk to; I’m still empty and restless. It’s like I’m on another level of existence than everyone else. I’m too far down to reach, buried beneath eviction notices and coated in off-brand cough syrup.’’

Wade hummed softly in acknowledgment, ‘’I think I understand what you mean. When I’m out on the job, whether I’m threatening someone or… killing someone, it’s all the same. I become cold and unfeeling. But it’s necessary for what I do, Peter. I don’t think what you’re feeling is a job descriptor, it’s a ...problem. A symptom of a disorder.’’ 

For the first time in months, empathy flickered up inside of Peter and he found himself interested in someone else. It wasn’t a breakthrough. Just an easy transition into socialization. ‘’How do you come down?’’ he asked, trying to ignore the cracks in the dam that was soon to come down and flood the place. It would not be the first time he drowned. The anxious voices in the back of Peter’s mind whispered amongst themselves, passing the idea of sickness back and forth like a rubber, bouncy ball.

‘’I talk myself down. I have to separate myself from the crime. Gotta justify it and tell myself I’m still an alright person. If I couldn’t do that… uh, I don’t know what it’d drive me to do. That pressure in your chest, in your mind... I don’t know how you tolerate it,’’ Wade said, while the wavering of his voice made him look so incredibly human that Peter wondered how he had missed it before. He had gotten so stuck in the glorification of Wade that he forgot he was an actual man with problems of his own. 

‘’I’m used to it. It’s like another sense, not like my Spider-sense, but a regular one that I’ve grown accustomed to,’’ he forced out, not really sure of how to explain. He was merely talking, letting his brain spit letters into open air until they made sense. Everything felt so severe and discomforting to him that anything was dangerous. His words. His movements. One wrong move and it would all… 

‘’Wait… Spider-Sense?’’ 

‘’What?’’ 

‘’You said Spider-Sense,’’ Wade told him, emotion devoid of his voice. 

Anxiety rose like ocean tides in Peter’s knotted stomach, he felt at any moment the water would end up on the floor in a mixture of salt and pancakes. ‘’I didn’t,’’ he lied placidly, eyes darting between Wade and the window in the kitchen. He didn’t think he’d need an escape plan previously. Now, he needed to grab his backpack, which held evidence, and slip past a professionally trained mercenary without fault or error. Wade looked at him as if he were memorizing every detail of his face. ‘’Like Spider-Man’s sense?’’ 

‘’No. I didn’t say Spider-Sense; I said Vider Sense, it means empty, like someone’s been gutted,’’ Peter lied again, this time through clenched teeth. They held eyes, almost challenging each other. 

‘’I heard what you said, baby boy.’’ 

‘’What are you suggesting?’’ Peter struggled to ask without his voice trembling betraying him.

Wade sighed, rolling his shoulders back as if he were trying to remain calm. ‘’Honestly, I’m hoping you’re a stripper whose alter ego just happens to be Spider-Man.’’ 

A humorless laugh left Peter’s mouth, ‘’Yeah. Yeah. Something like that.’’ 

‘’Is there something you want to tell me?’’ Wade asked, blue eyes trained on Peter’s face. 

Discomfort tasted like metal as it graced his tongue.

‘’You were right about the stripper thing,’’ Peter said, attempting to mislead him as his stomach churned at the implication. He looked down at the floor, knowing very well that his eyes would give him away. He had never been particularly good at lying, he was an open book without the hardcover that was his mask over his head. He felt so vulnerable, so raw, in front of Wade with lies sitting on his tongue improperly. Nobody ever believed kids like him. He looked like the type to keep secrets. 

He began to picture the following scenario in his head. The first move would be to reach behind him and rip his book bag from its snugged place between the couch and the wall. He’d sling it over his shoulder, and leap from the floor to the ceiling, careful to keep his wiry body from Wade’s strong hands, which would no doubt be grasping for him, trying to snatch him down. But Peter would be faster, quicker, he’d crawl to the window and break it open, if necessary, and chuck himself out of it. 

Wade would have his identity, address, and secrets. But not his body. ‘’Why do you keeping lying?’’ A rough voice asked, pulling him from his uncalculated plan and the scrambled room of his brain. 

‘’Don’t I have to?’’ Peter said questioningly in return, instead of answering. 

A moment passed and the city seemed to bustle with life behind them, below them, and above them. The world only seemed quiet within the living room of Wade’s expensive apartment. ‘’I told you my biggest secret within minutes of our meeting,’’ the older man said matter-of-factly. 

‘’You had nothing to lose,’’ Peter countered as if his secret wasn’t already known. It was merely being ignored at the moment. He knew Wade understood. The man just wanted confirmation, he wanted to hear it from Peter’s chapped lips, even if the admittance would give the brown eyed boy enough reason to free-fall off of a very tall building. The public already somewhat hated Spider-Man, despite the constant rescues and preventions of alien invasions, burglaries, and super villains. 

But Spider-Man wasn’t vulnerable. Peter Parker was. 

Wade scoffed, balling his hands into fists at his lap while Peter pretended not to notice out of the corner of his eye. ‘’If you had called the police, they would have shut my entire fucking organization down while single-handedly putting many, many men, including myself, out of work. I had a lot to lose, baby boy, but I find that it’s better not to hide behind false pretenses.’’ 

‘’I’m not… I’m not hiding. I’m protecting myself,’’ Peter struggled, sitting painfully still. He tried to control himself, keep his body calm and even. But with every passing second, the involuntary threat of shaking became more and more apparent in the back of his mind. He could feel it starting in his feet, slowly working its way up his body as he willed the nervous trembling down. 

‘’I thought you said you weren’t afraid of me?’’ The words were cold, passing by him in something close to hurt. 

Peter’s frown worsened as his shoulders slumped forward, ‘’I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of what you could do to me.’’ 

‘’Anyone could do anything to you, Peter. It’s all about trust.’’ 

Trust. Trust. It was something that he could never quite wrap his head around. He relied on himself and only himself, but even then, so much doubt welled up inside of him. How was he supposed to trust a near-stranger if he didn’t feel safe within his own skin? It was too much to ask of him. He didn’t know whether to feel angry or guilty, but the feelings, perhaps the combination of both, festered inside of him. Peter said, with little confidence, ‘’I’m sorry.’’

‘’I’m not expecting you to trust me right now,’’ Wade told him in his painfully steady voice. ‘’I’m asking you to give me a chance. I’m asking you to put faith in me.’’ 

Anxiety was not something that budged. It did not care. It did not want to feel better. But the desperate, roaming child within Peter did. He found that he had nothing to lose, despite desperately wanting to believe he did. ‘’Okay.’’ 

Peter was expecting the suffocating conversation to continue. He was afraid to give answers he didn’t have, but it seemed that Wade was already moving forward. He didn’t have long to be relieved. 

‘’So, Spider-Man has a lot more issues than I originally thought,’’ Wade said, dispersing the tension with a deceptively chipper voice. 

Peter turned to glare at him, and if looks could kill, well, let’s just say that Wade Wilson would be dead ten times over. ‘’Spider-Man doesn’t have issues. Peter Parker has issues,’’ he corrected, like it made perfect sense. 

A confused laugh left Wade’s mouth, ‘’I don’t think it works that way, baby boy, but if it makes you feel better…’’ 

‘’Aren’t you going to like, do something else?’’ Peter asked, wringing his hands anxiously. 

Wade raised an eyebrow, and then, without warning, he began to fan himself dramatically. ‘’Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Spider-Man, sir!’’ he exclaimed in a syrupy sweet voice, ‘’Forgive me for not falling to my knees and asking for your autograph.’’ 

Embarrassment showed brightly on Peter’s reddened face, ‘’I just meant--’’ 

He was interrupted by Wade’s mocking voice, ‘’Can’t believe I’m in the presence of such a God and I didn’t immediately faint. I don’t know how I forgot to die on the spot. Spidey, kiss me upside down, why won’t you?’’ 

‘’That was a lie perpetrated by the media! Kissing upside down is weird and impractical!’’ 

‘’How would you know unless you tried it?’’ the older man asked, breaking from his fanboy persona to look at Peter pointedly. 

‘’Shut up. I just know, alright??’’ 

A shit-eating grin spread across Wade’s face, ‘’Alright, Mr. Man. I trust you.’’ 

‘’Okay,’’ Peter said, sighing exasperatedly. 

Wade was silent for a beautiful ten seconds. ‘’Would you kiss me right side up?’’ 

‘’Only if you take me to get coffee,’’ he replied in a sheepish tone, finally relaxing back into the couch. 

A few moments passed, and then Wade was standing up and walking towards the hallway. Peter was suddenly tense again, unfortunately, and anxiously unsure of what the older man was doing.

He slipped a bony hand over the side of the couch to curl around his bag protectively. A door was opened, he knew, because he heard it creaking on its hinges from across the apartment. Two grueling minutes passed, and then Wade was coming back after slamming the aforementioned door shut. He had a burgundy jacket in his left hand and an umbrella in his right. ‘’Let’s go,’’ he said, coming over to give the coat to Peter, who let go of his book bag reluctantly. 

He held it in both hands, thumbing over the soft fabric. ‘’What’s this for?’’ 

‘’We’re going to get coffee,’’ Wade answered, now grinning broadly down at him. 

Realization dawned on Peter after a painful minute of him staring up at the man, dumbfounded. Wade wanted to kiss him. Again. The older man seemed to notice Peter’s predicament, but his smile never faltered. ‘’It’s cold outside,’’ he said, beckoning him upwards. ‘’There’s a 70% chance of rain.’’ 

Peter stood up, hesitantly unfolding the large jacket and pulling it around his shoulders. He slid his arms into the sleeves and found that it had already swallowed him whole. He didn’t look up at Wade, but he could feel the older man’s eyes on him as he zipped up the enveloping hoodie. ‘’Okay,’’ Peter said, realizing how much better he felt without his midsection showing. He exhaled shakily. One step at a time. He reached for his bookbag again which conveniently held his entire life inside of it. 

Peter looked up finally to find a peculiar look on Wade’s face, his eyes were soft around the edges and his mouth was kept in a gentle smile. It caught Peter off guard. No one had ever looked at him that way before, like he was worth keeping. He struggled to speak. ‘’Are we going?’’ he asked, shifting in his shoes.

Wade snapped out of whatever haze he was in. ‘’Yeah! Yeah.’’ 

Unfortunately, they spent five minutes trying to find Wade’s keys after realizing, upon opening the front door, that they needed to get back in at some point and couldn’t technically leave the apartment unlocked. Peter found, while digging his hand into the couch cushions, that he liked doing these things. It felt very domestic. Very calm. Like everything fit into place, despite things being messy and lost. He liked searching for keys. It was as if he had a purpose. 

The man came stumbling out of his bedroom with one hand in the air enclosed around a single keychain. ‘’Success!!’’ he bellowed, his deep voice echoing off the walls. Peter couldn’t help but snicker softly at the sight. For a killer, he was strangely childish. It was endearing almost. He couldn’t manage to feel guilty over the admiration that swelled in his stomach. It was a muted feeling, but it was pure. 

By the time they made it back to the front door, Wade had already placed his left hand on Peter’s lower back, ushering him along very carefully. ‘’Spiders first,’’ he said, grinning, as he opened the door and gestured Peter into the empty hallway. The door was locked behind them securely, and so they walked.  
\--- 

Peter hadn’t been in many coffee shops lately, due to the over-crowded buzz of New York and the constant pressure that swarmed in his stomach around strangers. He had grown up there, but the social anxiety that came along with being both introverted and in the city seemed to have worsened. As Spider-Man, he was covered from head to toe; he was safe. But as Peter Parker, he was vulnerable with his darkened eyes, runny nose, and chapped lips. He assumed he looked like the walking dead. 

But Wade, with his shoulders pulled back and spine straight, was so confident. He stood up to his full height, which was equally intimidating and attractive. But the worst part of it all was that they were standing so close together, pressed side-to-side, like a married couple that cared about no one but themselves. Peter wanted to embrace that. He wanted to concentrate on the warmth passing between them, despite the biting wind. He just wanted to pay attention for once. Live in the moment. 

Fortunately, the coffee shop wasn’t as crowded as it could have been. But it didn’t stop Peter from getting as close as possible to Wade to prevent other people from brushing shoulders with him. He felt like a child then, a very anxious and agoraphobic child. They were able to order soon, but standing behind an affectionate couple had Peter looking for an escape plan. They didn’t seem like bad people, but something about them was unsettling. Anxiety had rendered his spider-sense useless.

Everyone made him anxious. Everyone alerted his instincts. Fuck. Holy fuck. ‘’Hey,’’ Wade murmured, his hand slipping protectively around Peter’s waist. ‘’You’re okay. Don’t worry. I’m right here.’’ 

A part of Peter was immensely embarrassed to call himself a Superhero while simultaneously needing help to stand in a public place. He blamed it on the mask. The mask made him anonymous, and therefore untouchable. Yet there he was, bare-faced and wide-eyed beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, exposed to the roaming gazes of people around him. Wade was an anchor that he did not deserve. 

They moved up in line, meeting the tired face of a barista. She had droopy brown eyes and a mole on her cheek; it was the only thing Peter could really focus on. ‘’What can I get you today?’’ she asked, plastering a dubious smile on her face. It was only mid-afternoon and she looked as if she were ready to go home. Wade looked up at the menu above her head, and then at Peter, who merely shrugged.

‘’What are you thinking, baby boy?’ A caramel latte?’’ he asked, voice intentionally soft. 

Peter wondered how this near-stranger knew his usual coffee order but didn’t bother questioning it. 

‘’Yeah, that sounds nice,’’ he replied, just as quiet. 

The next few moments passed calmly as money was exchanged for warm cups, but it still felt suffocating somehow. Perhaps it was the bustle of people behind him, possibly watching him. 

Peter could never shake the feeling that everyone was paying attention to him, even when he was a pale, passing figure. It felt like thousands upon thousands of eyes were glaring at the back of his skull. Occasionally, the feeling would spur up in the middle of his empty apartment, driving him beneath his blankets and away from the vacant space that he called home. It was infuriating. 

‘’Come on,’’ Wade whispered to him, gently leading him away from the line towards a secluded table next to the window. It was fairly quiet there. It was the perfect place for Peter to dissolve, but he wouldn’t. Instead, he wrapped his palms around the blue cup that Wade had pushed across the table, feeling it nearly burn the sensitive skin of his hands. He didn’t move, even when the heat worsened.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Wade. He did not understand what the older man had to gain from treating him with the utmost care. Most people didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with him. But there was something different about him, Peter supposed, as he watched him from across the wobbly table. Wade was a mercenary with blood on his hands, but he was also a man who made an excessive amount of pancakes and kissed him in the middle of the night because he was asked to. 

Contradiction had never tasted so sweet. 

Peter took a few sips of his hot latte, savoring the slow rush of caffeine and the taste of sugar on his tongue. He closed his eyes and hummed softly in the back of his throat. For a few simple moments, he did not think. He just existed. The black hole in his chest swallowed every wisp of hope he possessed, but it was slowing down, digesting what it had consumed. It was a tricky kind of pain. It was not recovery. It was not release. It was more like sitting within the eye of the hurricane. Calm. Sleepy.

When he opened his eyes, Wade was staring at him with that painfully sincere look on his face again. The gentle gaze of an empathetic man would not cure Peter, but it would help with the restless disposition in his brain, stomach, and heart. It would lessen the blow. Patch up the wound.

Love cannot cure an illness, but it can ease the devastating pain of hopelessness. It was something that did not make sense to many people. Peter was sure this wasn’t love between him and Wade; they were still strangers and they still struggled to connect fully, but it was close enough. 

It was more like finding someone you knew you were going to love one day. 

‘’You’re gonna hold up your end of the deal, right?’’ Wade questioned, plucking at the packets of sugar on the table. 

Peter smiled tiredly, ‘’Maybe.’’ 

Wade took a long swig of his black coffee, and then he was licking it off of his lips, nodding his head. ‘’I’ll take that.’’  
\--- 

On the walk home, they couldn’t help but brush hands. There wasn’t a very long distance between the coffee shop and Wade’s expensive apartment, so Peter focused on the steps in-between. He couldn’t stop thinking about kissing. He had a hard time feeling things and processing them, but this was very clear in his mind. It was exciting in a dull kind of way. He did not feel things in full, however, something within him lit a flare in the otherwise dark cavern of his chest. It felt like bliss. Solace. 

The high, if you could call it that, usually lasted for thirty minutes. It was what he lived for. But to rely on a random, inconsistent warmth within your chest to stay alive was so troubling. He found that he wasn’t able to choose. It was not in his hands. But then, when it flickered alive and sent hope thrumming through him, he was excited. Mutedly excited. It was almost enough. Peter wouldn’t call himself an affectionate person, but when this happened, he was starved for it. He wanted it badly.

There was a desperate tug in his chest; one that nudged him closer to Wade, whose fingers finally slipped between his own. They were almost halfway home, but Peter could barely wait. He couldn’t open his mouth, afraid a rush of sappy terms would spill out, so instead, he turned his head coyly in Wade’s direction and grinned. He was sure he looked wild with his brown hair ruffled in all directions, but he didn’t care. All that mattered in that moment was the warmth within him. 

Wade gave him a confused smile in return, ‘’You’re looking really loopy there, baby boy. They drug your coffee?’’ 

‘’No, no, they just… I just… I feel really good right now,’’ Peter told him, close to tears, close to smiling uncontrollably. 

He glanced down at their hands, which were cautiously intertwined. It didn’t fix him. But it made him feel a little better like he wasn’t alone and constantly out of place. ‘’I’m glad you feel better than you did this morning. It’s really fuckin’ nice seeing you all ...happy and stuff,’’ Wade said, squeezing his hand tightly. It was a very simple kind of reassurance and only furthered the warmth in Peter’s stomach. He kept his eyes on his dirty white converse as they walked into the apartment building. 

With every second that passed, he got more excited. It felt nice to concentrate on something that wasn’t his own impending doom. Upon entering the elevator, the scene from last night played in Peter’s mind like rolling film. He recalled the chills that slipped up his spine and his rapid heartbeat. Wade’s hand was still firmly wrapped around his own as he worried that the older man could feel his pulse. He willed himself to be invisible, while another part of himself begged to be bold. He didn’t know which cards to put on the table, so he waited impatiently for Wade to make a move. He needed to be calm.

Peter watched the floor number go up and up while standing in complete silence, acutely aware of the swarming of butterflies in his stomach. It was cheesy like maybe he was still fifteen and crushing on another student instead of being in his early twenties and eyeing a mercenary who liked him too much. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, revealing a familiar hallway and unleashing the butterflies into the open air to flutter above them. Wade pulled him along leisurely, but Peter wanted to move faster. 

When the older man unlocked the apartment, there were forty-five spare seconds where Wade opened and slammed the door behind them. The keys were tossed in a random direction like they meant nothing at all, and Peter began to understand why they were lost in the first place. He allowed his book bag to slip down his shoulders and hit the floor as well, useless. He didn’t have much time to think it over, suddenly he was being pushed backward, trapped between the wall and Wade’s toned body. 

He took a gasping breath inwards before lips were pressed into his own. 

Unconsciously, his hands scuttered up the man’s body and rested on his broad shoulders. They kissed fervently, hurriedly, like this was the last time they’d ever do it. Peter struggled to keep up, there was so much happening at once. Wade’s large hands drifted down his waist, heavy and capable as they elicited breathless hums of acknowledgment. When he met the hem of the jacket, Wade slipped his cold fingers beneath the fabric and grazed soft, warm skin. Peter couldn’t begin to stop trembling. 

Peter’s head was spinning. He felt like he was spiraling out of control with how badly he wanted this. He was bursting at the seams, unraveling in the calloused hands of someone that he’d never truly have. The crushing reality of the situation didn’t keep him from whimpering when Wade slotted his knee between his thighs and pressed upwards, effectively wiping all of his cards from the table and onto the floor. Wade had him right where he wanted him, and it did nothing but excite Peter immensely. 

They pulled away from each other then, both unable to catch their breath as they held eye contact in the shadows of the apartment. It was too much at once. Peter’s hooded gaze never faltered as he let himself sit fully on Wade’s thigh, cock hard and throbbing through his jeans. Wade’s hands slipped farther down, grabbing two handfuls of his firm butt and squeezing hard. ‘’You like that?’’ the older man asked, now slowly rubbing his knee against Peter, looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

Peter’s face was bright red, and he felt as if he were burning from the inside out. ‘’Y-Yeah,’’ he breathed, unable to look away from the other man’s heated gaze. 

‘’Well, Spider-Man, I only paid for coffee, which means I’m afraid I can’t ask you for anything other than kisses,’’ Wade said, smiling in that painfully sincere way again. What a bastard. 

The tension dissolved into something playful. ‘’I guess you’re right,’’ Peter replied dubiously, easing forward to place an innocent kiss on Wade’s pointed nose. ‘’I’ll just… take care of this myself.’’ 

Wade made a terrible whining noise in the back of his throat, and Peter tried not to snicker. He pushed the older man away purposefully, walking cautiously towards the couch. He was sure he looked awkward waddling away with a boner, but it was nothing compared to the badly masked want of Wade, who lingered behind him and swayed gently like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. It was thrilling in some way for Peter to be this in control. It wasn’t a game. It was more like a test of who would break first. 

By the time he reached the couch, the heavy sound of combat boots hitting wooden floors droned behind him. Something childish sparked up inside of him, leading him to crawl quickly to the other side of the couch, away from the grasping hands of one Wade Wilson. A high pitched laugh escaped his lips when one of the aforementioned hands slipped around his ankle and pulled him back towards the other end. Into the wide embrace of a teasing, but needy man. His laughter was contagious, it seemed, as Wade began to chuckle as well with Peter’s back pressed into him. ‘’Let me go,’’ Peter demanded, grinning. 

‘’And if I don’t?’’ the older man challenged, voice low. 

He paused, ‘’You wouldn’t challenge a superhero to a knife fight.’’ 

‘’Do we have the same knife fight in mind? Mine is a little more personal, I think. You can decide.’’ 

Peter scoffed, ‘’I thought you said you only paid for kisses?’’ 

A wet kiss was pressed to the nape of his neck, leaving him jittering with anticipation. ‘’Kisses can be anywhere, baby boy. Want me to show you?’’ 

Peter nodded frantically, allowing himself to be manhandled onto his back. He gazed up at Wade, his puppy dog eyes soft and rounded along the edges. ‘’I’m waiting,’’ he mumbled, his voice as soft as silk. 

Wade ignored the low growl that emitted from his own throat, already moving downwards to please New York City’s favorite vigilante. Time slowed down as Peter’s heart sped up. It was electric.

The loose waist of his jeans were yanked down, along with the soft fabric of his boxer-briefs and then... 

Suddenly, Peter couldn’t breathe. He had his long, bony fingers entangling in Wade Wilson’s short hair, tugging almost violently as the older man slipped down to bob his head on his cock. He was pinned to the couch by strong forearms that pressed his hips down and kept him from bucking up into the white, hot pleasure that was Wade’s mouth. Peter could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, drowning out the strangled, breathless groans that left his lips. He was quickly unraveling at the seams with his thighs trembling and his eyes clenched shut, undergoing a sickening amount of ecstasy.

There was a twisting pressure building in his stomach, one that warned him that he wasn’t going to last very much longer. He didn’t have the ability to be embarrassed about it with a warm, wet mouth enclosing around his leaking cock. He felt the slick touch of Wade’s tongue running over the head of his cock, then his gut clenched, and he forcefully yanked his thighs upwards, body spasming as hot cum spurted into Wade’s receptive mouth. 

Peter’s head jerked backward, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat as unbearable pleasure coursed through his body relentlessly. He was whining pathetically, close to tears as his climax came to a shaky close. When it finally settled down, he still wasn’t free from the consuming aftershocks and the sight of his softened cock slipping out of Wade’s red, spit-smeared mouth. It took him a minute or so to come to terms with the fact that the older man had apparently swallowed, which was… Well… 

‘’I don’t think that counted as a kiss,’’ Peter said, not quite able to catch his breath. 

Wade smiled lazily at him, looking disheveled and somehow satisfied. ‘’You got me there, baby boy.’’


	5. Falling in love and toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has comforting thoughts in Wade's bed and considers staying there forever. 
> 
> or 
> 
> soft stuff in the middle of big chapters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I WAS GONE FOR LIKE ...SIX OR SEVEN MONTHS! But I promise I will be posting more regularly, so if you enjoy this story, do not fear! 
> 
> This fic now has a beta, who is going through the chapters as quickly as I'm writing them, so all prior chapters will be revised and updated! 
> 
> The fifth chapter is some sort of sweet filler, for the time being, seeing as I wanted to write something small to promise you I have more coming! Please look forward to grocery shopping and more romantic-comedy bullshit in the future!!

Wade’s calloused fingers edged across Peter’s long spine. The city hummed, still fully awake, as they laid in silence between the soft sheets of Wade’s king sized bed. Peter had never felt so serene. After a year spent drowning, he was suddenly afloat and coughing up the water that made a home of his lungs. The harsh outline of Wade was now blurred along the seams, thoroughly ruining his exaggerated, violent reputation. 

It was hard to imagine him outside of that quiet room, doing anything other than soothing Peter’s wound of a body. They were strangers on the surface, but beneath it, it felt as if they had known each other for an eternity. The impossibility of it left Peter wondering if any of it was real. If it weren’t for the insistence of Wade’s hands upon his skin, he would label it as one of his usual fleeting daydreams. 

He would end up outside of himself, soul rising up like bubbles in soda. But this stranger, this impossible comfort, still rubbed away the promise of lucid dreaming like a knowing husband. Like a man who had spent the last thirty years doing exactly that. To say that it didn’t hurt, this incriminating thought, would be to say that life was easy. Which was to say that it would be a lie. It hurt in a way that couldn’t quite be described. It was a beautiful ache. One that would promise him forever only to leave him in the morning.

In the midst of their simple, broken moment, there was a police siren. It echoed throughout the streets, reminding Peter that he had a job outside of the walls of this man’s bedroom. It was his exhaustive, nonpaying job that required him to scrub the smell of dirty clothes from his Spider-Man suit. He wondered what it was this time. A robbery, perhaps. He recalled wishing for crime only a while ago. Now, he threatened his past self with a knife and tried to rationalize staying in bed when he should have left. 

He did not want to move. Wade had a sturdy palm massaging into the base of his spine, working the tension from his muscles as he melted further into the mattress. A voice cut into his self-inflicted anxiety, somehow sensing his disposition. ‘’Won’t you let the police do their jobs?’’ 

Peter huffed. It was a muffled noise. It seemed ironic for a mercenary to insist on leaving the law alone. He would have pointed this out, but you see, his voice was caught in his chest and didn’t intend on leaving. He was calm, in the face of it all. He was calm. 

It was a peculiar thing to realize for a man who had been on the edge for the last year and a half. The sirens died down, now only a whirring sound in the distance. He let them go. Tiredly, he acknowledged that he wasn’t cured, even in a soft bed. He was intelligent enough to know that a short-lived romance wouldn’t balance the chemicals in his brain. But it was still alright.

Wade’s fingers were suddenly tapping along his skin, like a repetitive, four-fingered tune on a piano. Peter did not know much about massage therapy, but this odd motion definitely wasn’t involved in it. Instead, it was like a silly reminder of who was touching him. Wade Wilson. A bourbon flavored, grinning man with a lack of shame and an abundance of interest directed towards minuscule things. 

 Peter did not know his favorite color or the name of his mother or where he grew up but… Peter liked him. He liked his voice and his low-rising sweatpants and his ringtone. He liked Wade and it was terrifying in such a soft way. He was becoming attached in such a short amount of time. How pathetic he thought himself to be, falling in love with the idea of a man that played Russian roulette with death as he desperately tried to stop it. He was chasing the same thing he was running from and he couldn’t stop. He wanted it so badly, this domestic wonderland of burnt pancakes and soft sheets, even if it would hurt him in the end. He could deal with a little more pain for a taste of bliss. For a spoonful of happiness that would sedate him and keep him under.

Peter had never been able to feel one thing at once. He switched so erratically between ideas, fears, and choices. Contradiction felt similar to the rise and fall of his chest. In fact, it was exactly that. Push and pull. Back and forth. Up and down. He had been repulsed, manic, infatuated, and aroused in a limited amount of time. He felt he deserved an award for being so inconsistent without Wade questioning it. That resilient man picked him up off the floor and led him into the light. Bruises and all. Never once doubting him. 

It left Peter with an incredible fondness that should have been reserved for someone else. Someone who knew his favorite color, his mother’s name, and where he grew up. But nonetheless, it was there. The novel, loving feeling that held his heart in its metaphorical hands. It pooled in his stomach and intensified with every uncalculated touch. The immensity of it terrified him. Wade would not return this sentiment, he knew, even when the man’s lips brushed the dimples of his back and blessed him with shivers that wracked through him entirely. He listened to Wade chuckle under his breath, obviously impressed, or maybe amused, by Peter’s sensitivity to his touch… The vulnerability was sickly sweet, but he lapped it up. 

Wade’s bed smelled of laundry detergent and the cataloged scent of cologne. Peter curled up in the cashmere sheets, forgetting to miss his own bed in the process. On his side, he couldn’t watch the older man but he could feel him slip down beside him, aligning their bodies in one continuous curve beneath the covers. Peter exhaled shakily when seeking fingertips brushed along the indentions of his ribs, feeling him for what he was: a malnourished, emotionally broken millennial with no living relatives or friends.  

‘’You’re incredibly bony,’’ Wade said, fingering the hollow curve between either side of his ribs. The light pooling into the room was slotted due to the tangled curtains, leaving Peter selectively touched by the moon’s captive glow. There was a loose spotlight on the headboard, cutting just low enough to illuminate the smooth line of Peter’s neck. It should have been troubling, but with his eyes closed, it was barely knowledgeable. He found that he would have slept under a fluorescent ceiling as long as Wade remained. 

It was hard to imagine living any differently, despite having done it. Peter recalled the itchy sheets of his twin sized mattress, the dirty blanket he compulsively carried from his teenage years, and the unsupportive pillow that he folded in half time and time again. He duly noticed that he would soon return to that coffin of a bedroom with a silver spoon of happiness still in his mouth, cough syrup not yet swallowed. In response to Wade, he hummed calmly in the back of his throat. Words never came. Wade didn’t mind. 

A moment passed. Peter struggled to stay awake. ‘’I never imagined Spider-Man to be so soft,’’ Wade mumbled, breath warm on the nape of his neck. 

Peter had to swallow around the jawbreaker of silence in his mouth to speak. ‘’That’s because he isn’t.’’ 

The fingers running over his skin were cautious, but unfaltering. ‘’The distinction matters?’’ 

‘’Spider-Man is confident, assertive, and witty. I am none of those things,’’ Peter tried to explain without cutting too much of himself up. He felt the incision of reality dip into him. It stung. He put up a strong mirage, but it would not hold him up. It would not support the weight of his thoughts. The suit he wore allowed the mirror to reflect his lies, and he liked it, even when swinging through the city t0ok too much out of his already wavering energy source. He was a liar. It hurt to think about. It hurt even more to say it.

Wade hummed in acknowledgment, but not in agreement

‘’I don’t know about all that, baby boy, but you sure are soft. Like the velvet couches in the strip club on East.’’ 

Peter wrinkled his nose, ‘’Is… Is that a compliment or should I kick your ass?’’ 

‘’Will you still kick my ass if it’s a compliment?’’ There was an easy twenty seconds between Wade’s dubious words and Peter’s elbow digging into his stomach. A breathless ‘oof’ left the man’s mouth, followed by strained words. ‘’Damn… Mind the super strength a bit, why don't ya?’’ 

An amused laugh escaped Peter’s lips, echoing throughout the room. ‘’Sorry! I forgot.’’ 

‘’You sure you and Spidey aren’t exactly the same? You sure are packing the same punch.’’ 

Wade couldn’t see the smile on Peter’s face, but it was wide enough to assume that it could be felt instead. They fit together so comfortably, so casually, that it was hard to imagine them to be strangers. ‘Strangers’ was a word that tended to creep up in the back of his mind from time to time, killing the light in his chest by unplugging it from the socket. ‘’I’m starting to think you only want to date Spider-Man…’’ Peter said lightheartedly, his words quick and unprepared. He should have thought more before speaking. 

‘’Oh, we’re dating now? That’s a new one on me,’’ Wade murmured, somehow pressing closer. 

In the dim bedroom, the rosy color spreading across Peter’s cheeks could not be seen. ‘’Shut up,’’ grumbled the flustered man, and yet, he did not move. He leaned further into Wade’s embrace, reveling in the heat of his body and the steady pattern of his breathing. Silence filled the room with every beat of his heart, leaving them in a comfortable tranquility. A heavy question sat on his tongue, tickling the roof of his mouth and triggering his gag reflex as it grew and grew with curiosity. He worried it’d ruin the moment. Oh well. 

‘’Wade?’’ he called, possibly interrupting a slow recline into sleep. 

The hand on his stomach twitched, ‘’Yeah?’’ 

‘’Do you think… Uh, do you think that we’re moving too fast?’’ Peter asked quietly, using the most controlled voice he could manage. It quivered around the edges, but it did not break. He was relieved at that, even if uttering the question itself aloud broke his heart. If the thoughts remained in his head, he was not accountable for what they entailed. But after being spit out into the open, they were a flashlight directed towards the crime scene of his brain. They were the fingerprints left behind. They were consequential and he knew that, but he said them anyway because he had nothing to lose. Or at least he claimed to have nothing to lose. It was a constant chant in his head, telling himself it was alright. 

Wade cleared his throat and then spoke in that impossibly steady voice of his. ‘’In my opinion, not really. We’re not getting married today, baby boy, we have all the time in the world to learn about each other. So, who really cares if we suck each other off in the meantime?’’ 

‘’Isn’t thre supposed to be a build up? Tension?’’ Peter insisted, arguing on the behalf of his negative thoughts. 

A soft laugh came from behind him, ‘’What is this? A romance novel?’’

‘’It might be! How are we to know?’’ he grumbled, digging his head into the pillow pointedly. 

Wade’s laughter dissolved into amused words, ‘’Alright, baby boy… I understand your predicament. So, we’ll do everything we were supposed to do. Like go to fancy restaurants and history museums. We’ll order expensive things and exchange childhood trauma and then… at last, the blowjob I gave you earlier will be justified!’’

Peter snorted, ‘’Yeah. It feels like we’re doing things in the wrong order.’’ 

‘’Hey! I got you coffee. I paid for those kisses. Consider that our first date.’’ 

There was a pause, and then Peter said, ‘’Are you implying that I’m a hooker?’’ 

‘’No, of course not, baby boy… You’re just the finest sugar baby I’ve ever seen.’’ 

Peter laughed softly, ‘’Shut up. I hate everything that comes out of your mouth.’’ 

Wade pressed a wet kiss into the back of his neck, ‘’I’m sure you do, baby boy.’’ 

‘’How do you even exist?’’ Peter asked, reveling in the softness of the sheets and the warmth radiating off of his partner. There was a sweet feeling pooling low in his belly now, erasing the discomfort he felt previously. He couldn’t believe how comfortable he was in that moment. It was as if he was within a dream, floating high and far away from reality. But, due to some impossible miracle, the man behind him was not a figment of his imagination. He was real and firm behind him, pressed against his skin, alive. 

The question hung in the air for a moment or two, as if Wade couldn’t figure out how to answer. The older man seemed to be puzzled, so he went with his usual responses. Humor got him out of most things.  ‘’Well, uh, you see, Petey, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much, they do the ancient ritual of piping each other down,’’ he said, his voice as smooth as velvet. Peter wondered how he could be so ridiculous and absolutely sexy at the same time. It was such a weird thought. He had never thought so hard about a person before, but now, he was analyzing this man for every minor, albeit silly detail. 

‘’Really? I had no idea…. I was confident that Storks brought children to parents,’’ Peter said, rolling his eyes. Wade’s thumb stroked over his ribs, a careful back and forth motion, and chuckled softly. It was so late now, and it was hard to stay awake. The room was chilly, but Peter had never been more warm. Body heat was a special type of comfort, he realized. He was so comfortable and secure. It was a relieving realization, but he didn’t think about it too hard. He merely closed his eyes, and let the drowsiness cover him like a blanket. Wade kissed the back of his neck once, and then they fell into oblivion peacefully. 

\---

The next day, Peter woke up to the smell of fresh coffee. This time around, he didn’t have to open his eyes to know where he was. The blankets and pillows, him included, smelled distinctly of Wade. It was a smoky, light scent. It seemed to be a mixture of shampoo and cologne, along with the smell of his skin. Peter breathed in deeply, reaching blindly to pull the covers up to his neck to cocoon him in a beautiful warmth. Distantly, he could hear whistling and the cracking of eggs. Something tender bloomed in Peter Parker’s chest in that moment. He felt like he was older, and married, sleeping in late as his husband cooked. 

It was ridiculous, of course. But he swore there was some gentle security in the thought. Any world where he was safe, in love, and warm was the ideal. And as he laid curled up in Wade Wilson’s bed, he felt he lived in the right universe. Sure, they weren’t married. They weren’t even officially together. But it seemed to be the beginning of something like that, even if that was wishful thinking. Peter was not the type to think irrationally about these things, but God, he wanted to spend the rest of his life in that bed; irrationality be damned. He sighed, snuggling into the blankets. For the time he was there, he was going to be alright. 

Suddenly, the whistling stopped and the sound of glass plates hitting a wooden tray echoed lightly throughout the apartment. And then, giving Peter a stomach of butterflies, he heard Wade padding down the hallway, brushing the door open with his shoulder, carrying a tray of breakfast foods. Oh, God. Peter was in so deep. The lazy grin on Wade’s face made his heart pulse in his chest, throbbing and aching with pure, unadulterated affection. He was almost sick with it, but at the same time, he would never wish for a cure. He would happily spend the rest of his days contagious, having caught some type of love bug. That was so cheesy, Peter thought, watching the older man move forward carefully, balancing everything on the light, wooden tray with ease. ‘’Good morning, sleeping beauty,’’ Wade said, his eyes crinkling around the edges. Peter smiled sheepishly, glancing away from the dreamy sight. He was in so, so deep. Holy fuck. 

Wade sat on the edge of the bed, sitting the tray in front of him. Peter could smell the eggs and toast, along with the fresh coffee steaming in a Sailor Moon themed mug. ‘’I missed you,’’ the younger man said, stretching his legs out before sitting up slowly in bed, gently to keep the coffee from spilling. He caught Wade’s gaze, and the man’s smile seemed to deepen. ‘’Don’t look at me like that,’’ Peter insisted, reaching for the coffee. It seemed to already have cream and sugar in it, which the younger man could only attribute to the man watching him add an unholy amount of sweetener to his coffee yesterday evening at the shop.

‘’You look so pretty in the mornings, Petey Pie,’’ Wade said, reaching for a piece of toast. He took a big bite and then put it back, chewing thoughtfully as he stared forward. Peter blushed deeply, shaking his head before swigging his drink. ‘’I was thinking that we could go out today, y’know, maybe go grocery shopping together, or… go see Weasel again…’’ 

Peter grimaced, ‘’No more alcohol.’’ 

‘’So, does that mean I can take you grocery shopping and we can act like real adults?’’ the older man asked, quirking up an eyebrow. God, Peter couldn’t stand it when it did that. It was something about the way his eyes glinted, or maybe the slight pull of his lips, showing some type of beautiful amusement on his angular face. Peter gave him a soft smile, nodding his head. It was hard to say no to someone like Wade. 

People who smelled like comfort food and expensive shampoo should not be trusted, but fuck, he trusted him deeply. It was with some type of blind urgency to rely on him, he supposed. A gut feeling that told him that everything would be alright with this toast-stealing, bed-sharing, blowjob-giving older man. 

After two pieces of toast, an entire mug of coffee, and a few sips of orange juice, the wooden tray was sat on the floor. Then, to say thank you, Peter pulled his new lover into bed and embraced him in a hug that could be considered desperate. It wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t romantic. But it was significant in a way that holding hands was, so innocent and vulnerable. He couldn’t guarantee forever, nor could he even count on tomorrow, but right then was really all that mattered. That daring, emotional grasp that begged for something good to happen. And it did, Peter thought, when Wade pulled back and kissed him hard.

When they broke apart, Wade grinned wildly. ‘’I’m keeping you,’’ he said, and then kissed Peter again. 


End file.
